A Four Legged Friend
by Dizzo
Summary: A Chupacabra hunt deep in the mountains proves to be a challenging time for the boys, not least of all getting there in the first place ...
1. Chapter 1

A FOUR-LEGGED FRIEND

A Chupacabra hunt deep in the mountains proves to be a challenging time for the boys, not least of all getting there in the first place ...

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys, want, but can't have.

xxxxx

"You've got to be friggin' jokin'."

Dean stared at their mode of transport with poorly disguised horror; "Sam; tell me you're not serious?"

Sam shrugged. "Dean, we're never gonna get through that mountain track in all that dense forest in the Impala."

Dean's mouth worked but nothing apart from incoherent squeaks and spit came out.

The two horses standing either side of Sam stared back at Dean from under long coarse lashes with equal disdain. The tall slender chestnut snorted loudly, spraying Dean's face with a warm mist of grass scented spit.

He glared at Sam. "I'll walk."

Sam shook his head, "we can't walk all the way there with all our stuff," he pointed to the massively bulging saddlebags strapped across the haunches of both horses.

Dean stared at the bags, shaking his head to clear his thoughts; "what the hell is all this friggin' crap? "

Sam looked around shiftily, "well, there's our duffels, all the water and provisions, our weapons, our tent, our books and laptops, our …"

Dean cut him off with a raised hand; "tent?" His glare darkened as he folded his arms across his chest. "Do you mind explaining why we need a tent?"

Sam looked down and drew lazy circles in the gravel with his foot, "um, because it's a good two days trek along the mountain pass to the region central to most of the Chupacabra kills, an' there's no motels or any sorts of buildings between here and there."

Dean's brows knotted into a constipated frown; "an' when were you planning' to share this little pearl of wisdom with me?"

Sam smiled weakly; "it must have just, uh, slipped my mind."

Dean rubbed a hand across his clammy forehead, "this freakin' day's just getting worse… do you know how much I hate camping?" he spat, "sleepin' out with the bugs, pine needles in your butt cheeks, peein' in friggin' bushes …" he sighed; "anything else you wanna tell me about this damned field trip? You wanna hunt raccoons an' eat their spleens or something'?"

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "nah you're okay; I brought burgers, we can make a fire and cook them instead; not as chewy as raccoon spleens."

Dean knew this was a lost cause and wilted. He looked at the barrel chested dun horse that stood in front of him, knock-kneed and splay-footed, it eyed him suspiciously from under a profuse black forelock.

Sam handed over the reins gesturing towards the saddle; "we'd better get going, dude."

Dean took the reins with a sigh.

xxxxx

Pulling their horses round the brothers swung up into the saddle. Sam's long leg swung freely over his mount's muscular haunches, and within moments he was perched comfortably in the saddle looking down on the spectacle beside him. Dean appeared to have lost his momentum halfway over. He dangled, one foot in the stirrup, the other knee wedged between the cantle of the saddle and the saddlebags strapped over the ample dun hindquarters beneath him. He grunted and cursed as he tried to heave himself all the way over.

The unbalanced horse swung round and barrelled backwards into Sam's tall chestnut, confronting him with the unlovely close-up of his spreadeagled brother's denim-clad ass clinging crookedly to a broad dun rear end like a monkey up a stick.

"Frig, frig, friggin' keep friggin' still ya freakin' assbutt sonofabitch fleabag …" The muttered oaths became more and more colourful as Dean managed to haul himself into a vaguely upright position despite the uncomfortable shuffling and prancing of his horse. He clumsily gathered up the reins and wheeled the recalcitrant horse round so he was facing Sam's grinning face.

"What?" he snapped.

Sam nodded, "elegant, dude, real elegant …" he sniggered.

"kiss my ass," came the ingracious response.

"It was so close to my face just then, I could have!" Sam's grin widened.

Dean spent the next few moments fidgeting, adjusting straps, shortening stirrup leathers, and engaging in a long and thorough rearrangement of his underwear that made Sam feel highly uncomfortable, until eventually the brothers and their mounts were able to set off at a casual pace along the muddy gravel track.

xxxxx

"So how did you learn to ride these things?" Dean asked, swaying uneasily with the movement of his chunky mount.

"Jess;" Sam replied, "her uncle kept horses and she used to love to ride them, so he taught me so we could go out together."

Dean snorted. "Never appealed to me; I like a mode of transport that doesn't have a mind of it's own," he muttered. The stocky dun snorted and flicked it's ears disapprovingly.

Sam smiled, "it's not so bad, you've just gotta get inside their head, treat them so they respect you." He reached forward and patted the chestnut's neck; "we should call them by their names," Sam added, "they're used to hearing the sound of it, so it'll make them feel more secure".

He patted the placid chestnut again, "the farmer that I hired them from likes to name his horses after film characters; this is Indiana."

Dean rolled his eyes, "an' what's this fat thing called? Jabba?"

Sam grinned, "no, that's Hannibal."

Dean stared. "Hannibal? Freakin' Hannibal - what does that make me? Clarice?"

Sam shrugged, "I just told the farmer you've never ridden one before and that's what he gave me. Don't worry, if I wake up in the night and find you've been skinned and dismembered, I'll know who to blame!"

Dean snorted, and leaned over Hannibal's head; "Yeah, well, you try anything, you fleabitten hay bag, I'll kick your mangy fat ass!"

As if on cue, Hannibal lifted his tail and demonstrated exactly what he thought of his rider's threat.

Xxxxx

The two horses meandered through the dark forest canopy, their steady gait beating out a slow, gentle tattoo against the uneven gravel track. The early evening sunlight filtered through the mass of trees, dappling and mottling across their backs, flickering shadows across the brother's faces as they chatted amiably along the route.

They discussed the hunt at length. The chupacabra had been responsible for a spate of gruesome livestock deaths around the mountains; mainly sheep, but also a few cattle and a couple of ponies which grazed around the mountain tracks. A couple of hikers had turned up dead - eviscerated in fact, and a third unlucky dude had been mauled by 'a hairless kangaroo creature with a wolf's head, red glowing eyes and big, big claws'. He was currently convalescing from his ordeal in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital.

As the shadows lengthened, and it became harder to see where they were heading, they decided to set up camp while where was still a scrap of daylight in which to erect their tent and, with perfect timing, they found a small clearing beside a shallow stream where they could refresh the horses and low hanging trees where they could tether them.

Erecting the tent had proved to be a lively, frustrating and vocal exercise. It stayed up on the third attempt, having collapsed on the first and been kicked over on the second. Throughout, Sam was treated to a running commentary of how much Dean hated camping, how much he ached, how sore his ass was, which parts of his body hurt the most, and which parts had lost all feeling, including one part which Sam really didn't want to hear about.

Dean's mood lifted noticeably once Sam lit a fire and the burgers appeared. Relaxing with a bag of chips, he even began referring to Hannibal as his 'fat buddy'.

xxxxx

Satisfied and rested, the Winchesters sat quietly round the little fire tin staring lazily through pitch blackness into the dancing flames. Comforted by each others' company and the warm night breezes which carried the scents of Pine and Wintergreen, they soon found that the merry crackle of the fire, and the soft whittering of their tethered horses was lulling them both into a droopy eyed torpor, and sleep was soon beckoning.

xxxxx

Two pairs of long-lashed liquid eyes watched through the darkness as the tent zipped closed and quivered as the two occupants wrestled and squirmed their way into their sleeping bags.

"Shift over Sammy, you great freak, you're squashin' me…"

"Stop moanin', you've got plenty of room …"

"I can't freakin' move, I feel like a friggin' maggot trussed up in this thing …"

"Yeah, dude, whatever …"

"Jeez, Sam - I'm so gonna ache in the morning …"

"My ears are aching now …"

"An' I still can't feel my …"

"DUDE!"

xxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 2

The boys are on the trail of the chupacabra; Sam's in his element. Dean? Well, see for yourself ...

This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has suffered the misery of being saddlesore!

xxxxx

Sam drifted awake to birdsong, blinking against the dawn sunlight which filtered through the green ripstop of the tent's walls.

He inhaled deeply of the moist closeness which results from two warm, respirating bodies sharing the same cramped, waterproof space; and shuffled out from under his sleeping bag.

They just didn't make sleeping bags for people of his dimensions; It had taken him all of one minute to realise he had exactly zero chance of fitting even two thirds of his body inside it, and had eventually unzipped it all the way round, laying it over himself like a quilt. Dean, being no willowy little thing himself, had also swiftly realised that broad shoulders and sleeping bags don't go well together. He had ended up untidily sprawled half in and half out of his.

Sam pulled on a pair of sweats as quietly as he could so as not to wake the comatose figure beside him. Dean lay on his back, his head canted towards Sam, soft snores emerging as breathy whistles between his teeth. His hand rested across his midriff, unconsciously kneading the fabric of the sleeping bag in tandem with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam grinned; right now, Dean certainly didn't look anything like someone who hated camping with a vengeance.

Slowly beginning to unzip the tent, Sam cringed; why the hell did they make tents with the noisiest zippers in the world? He paused and held his breath as Dean stirred, the rhythm of his breaths hitching as the rasp of the zipper briefly disturbed him. When Dean squirmed a little further down into the rumpled bundle of nylon around him with a soft murmur and his breaths evened out again, Sam quickly drew the zipper the rest of the way up and clambered out of the tent.

Xxxxx

Sam stood in front of the tent, bending deeply into a stretch, enjoying the early morning breeze cool and refreshing across his bare back after the stifling atmosphere inside the tent.

Pulling on a T shirt, he slipped into his unlaced sneakers and walked over to the two horses, petting them enthusiastically. He pulled up fistfuls of grass to tempt them as they affectionately butted and nuzzled him before leading them to the stream to drink. When he was satisfied the horses were well refreshed, he led them back, tethering them to another tree to avail themselves of the lush greenery beneath it, and strolled back over to the little soot blackened fire tin, still sitting where they had left it the night before. Lighting another fire, he placed a small pan of water on top of it. He was ready for a coffee.

Sitting cross-legged on the soft, dew-cool grass, Sam watched in contented silence as his little fire fluttered and fizzed, boiling the water for his coffee. He watched the hazy sunlight filter through the trees, coating the world around him in pale dappled light. Closing his eyes, he listened to the birdsong, the soft susurration of the forest around him, the champing of the horses as they grazed in the long grass around them, and smiled broadly. He guessed this was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get.

xxxxx

His reverie was suddenly disturbed by indications of life in the tent behind him, and he heard the zipper being tugged clumsily upwards. Turning, he was suddenly transported from the idylls of this Garden of Eden to gruesome reality as a hollow-eyed, stiff-legged figure half stumbled, half crawled from under the tent flap and staggered to something resembling a standing position with a wet cough and a scratch of his ragged head.

He stared at Sam with a vacant blink; the trademarked look of someone still hovering between sleep and wakefulness, and busily scratched his groin through his threadbare boxers.

Sam sighed, and looked back to the little pan as the water bubbled to the boil. "You wanna think about putting some pants on?" He muttered, "we are out in the open here - any passing hiker could see you like that and be scarred for life."

"Sammy" croaked Dean in wide-eyed distress, ignoring Sam's concerns about his state of dress - or lack of it; "can't friggin' move." He shuffled forward, and Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Ev'rythin' hurts … ev'rythin'," he groaned piteously, "I-I can' straighten up."

"You're just a bit of saddle-sore," Sam grinned airily, "it'll pass."

Dean limped stiffly toward Sam, kneading his stooped back, his poor legs operating in different time-zones. "I can't wait for it to pass …" he whimpered, "I hurt in places I didn't even know I had."

"You're just not used to it; horseback riding's a great all over workout" Sam smiled, offering Dean a coffee: "you'll feel like a new man afterwards."

"I feel like I've been run over by a friggin' German panzer division; that's what I feel like ..." Dean's voice rose in volume and pitch.

"An' my ass; Oh God, Sammy; don't even get me started on my ass …"

"I had not intention of doing so," Sam interrupted, passing Dean a cup of coffee and hoping it might steer the conversation in another direction.

"My ass…" Dean continued, clearly wanting nothing more than having someone 'get him started on his ass'. "It's friggin raw; feels like it's been skinned," he moaned.

Sam chuckled, "I remember when I first had a go; it does chafe a bit."

He closed his eyes and concentrated on sipping his coffee when he immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"Chafe?" Dean winced as he lifted his arms to plant them on his hips. "Chafe? Dude, it feels like full-on nuclear fission going on down there."

He staggered, John-Wayne fashion towards the log where they had sat the previous evening, and leaned heavily on Sam as he timidly lowered his tenderised rump towards it. Groaning and grumbling, Dean puffed and panted as every strained and stretched muscle in his body protested with the movement, causing Sam to have a sudden, fleeting and highly disturbing image of his brother giving birth.

He shook his head to clear his mind and was confronted with the sight of Dean once again lavishly scratching his nether regions.

"Dude, Sam groaned, "what's with the scratchin'?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "give it a rest, already."

Dean scowled, "can' help it." He fidgeted uncomfortably, rearranging his boxers with, it seemed, limited success; "wen' out for a pee in the night, and …"

Sam shrugged, "what?"

"Friggin' nettles," snapped Dean irritably; "didn't see the damn things in the dark."

Sam barked out an involuntary laugh, almost choking on his coffee, spitting the drink so far it was in danger of extinguishing the fire. "At least you got the feeling back …" he spluttered.

Dean absently kneaded one of his aching shoulders and glared at his brother's undignified mirth. "Finished?" He asked sourly when the breathless giggles had finally died down.

Sam shook his head and sighed, "dude, you're a real man of the Earth aren't you?"

Dean grunted as he took a sip of coffee; "when the human race takes the effort to invent a thing as useful as a city, it's rude not to take advantage of it," he replied earnestly.

Sam smiled, and tried hard to transport himself back to his brief moment of bliss before his world was rudely invaded by stiff muscles, skinned asses and … no, he scolded himself; don't go there with the nettles.

xxxxx

The brothers finished their coffee in a companionable silence which was punctuated by grunts and hisses of discomfort, along with the occasional colourful expletive every time Dean lifted the cup to his lips.

Eventually he spoke up … "so what's the plan Geek-boy?"

Sam shrugged; "I figured if we maybe picked up the pace today," he replied, "we might be able to get the chupacabra's hunting ground by afternoon." He shrugged, "you never know, if these things are as stupid as people say, we could have this job wrapped up by nightfall."

Dean wasn't keen on the phrase 'pick up the pace', not keen at all; but he did like the sound of 'wrapped up by nightfall'. 'Wrapped up by nightfall' meant heading back to civilisation, it meant a proper bed under a proper roof, four wheels instead of four legs, a cold beer, a hot shower, air conditioning, eating M&M's until you puke rainbows and a large hawaiian pizza with extra mozzarella.

Sam stood up and set to work tidying up their camp. Dean sighed; it looks like the decision was made.

xxxxx

In the time it took Dean to stagger into a standing position, rummage in the first aid kit for the antihistamine cream, apply said cream to his tender, nettle-ravaged parts, and wrestle himself into his clothes, Sam had already packed up the tent and was busy tacking up the bemused horses.

Struggling admirably to put his socks on, Dean slumped to frustrated and ingracious defeat when his poor battered back just flatly refused to bend that far. He sighed; his feet were just too far away; they were only the end of his legs, but they may as well have been in New Zealand for all the contact he could have with them.

Sam stood shaking his head; he couldn't watch the pathetic stretching, groaning, hopping and gyrating exhibition a moment longer.

He walked over, and without argument gently pushed his brother down onto the fallen log where they had sat to drink their coffee earlier and wordlessly slipped Dean's socks and boots on.

Standing back he checked out the camp. Tent was packed, camp was cleared, horses were fed, watered and tacked up. Sam was exhausted, he felt like he'd done a days' work already, but his biggest challenge was still to come.

Now he had to get Dean and all his aches, pains and itches back up in the saddle.

xxxxx

_I know I classified this story as hurt/comfort/angst - the hurt/comfort and angst is coming up, I promise - just wanted to have some fun and larks first ..._

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 3

The landscape turns bleaker for the boys, and that's not all ...

xxxxx

Hoisting his fractious and increasingly immobile brother back onto Hannibal hadn't proved as much of an ordeal as Sam had feared. Hannibal was far too occupied with a particularly delicious patch of clover to care much about the cursing figure, clumsily grappling his way up into the saddle courtesy of a brotherly leg-up.

Sam reflected as he nursed his aching jaw; a memento from where Dean's flailing boot had caught him a haymaker. He was sure he'd have an impressive bruise there by the morning, and he was quite sure a tooth was working itself loose too. Peachy, just peachy.

xxxxx

The horses maintained a lively pace; switching back and forth between a brisk walk and a leisurely canter as they progressed deeper and deeper into the mountain pass; the crunching of their hooves over the barren rock-strewn track, a backtrack to the intermittent conversation of their riders.

The Winchesters had been riding for a few hours and had lost track of how many miles they had travelled, but they were clearly deep into the mountains, and that meant they were close to the chupacabra's hunting ground.

Dean had spent the first portion of the ride complaining about his sore ass, unswerving in his belief that he was almost certainly going to need skin grafts. Sam noted, with relief, that he had finally gone silent on the subject. That either meant that his ass had gone numb under this morning's onslaught and wasn't hurting any more or that he had realised the whining wasn't achieving anything and had given up. What's more, Sam didn't care about the reason; he was just grateful for the peace and quiet.

As they continued, the pass wound deeper and deeper into the valley, the mountains looming up either side of them, bathing them in shadow and bouncing the echoing crunch of the horses hooves from side to side.

The lush vegetation of their morning's campsite had gradually thinned away, replaced by sparse brush and isolated outcrops of spiky gorse, which clung forlornly to the rocky foothills.

Sam's eye wandered, taking in the bleak moonscape; his mind occupied with thoughts of where they could camp and how they would feed and water the horses tonight. He pondered the hunt; the chupacabra could be anywhere so they needed to be prepared. His hand strayed down to grip the barrel of the rifle tucked securely under Indiana's surcingle.

He looked across at Dean who appeared lost in his thoughts, rocking uncomfortably in the saddle, scanning the track dead ahead over the rhythmic nod of Hannibal's shaggy head as he clung grimly onto the horn of the saddle.

xxxxx

A heavy rustle suddenly shook the bushes ahead of them and the brothers glanced at each other, instinctively reaching for their weapons. As they did so, a young buck elk burst out from the brush; it's side gashed open, blood pouring down it's legs. It scrambled across the track ahead of them, running stiffly and awkwardly, as if only three of it's four legs were functioning properly.

Both horses squealed in shock and recoiled violently; Sam lurched, letting out an involuntary gasp as he was flung sideways out of the saddle. Landing heavily on his hip, he rolled back to avoid Indiana's stamping hooves, groaning as a bolt of pain shot through his thigh.

Hannibal had shied, also flinging Dean sideways, but committing the cardinal novice rider sin, Dean hung on grimly as the panic crazed animal wheeled and fretted beneath him.

"Dean, let go," Sam stumbled painfully to his feet yelling across to his brother, "jump off, Dean; jump off …"

But Dean was numb to anything except his panic at this unfamiliar and terrifying situation. His feet had slipped out of the stirrups and in an instinctive attempt to beat the pull of gravity, he flung his bodyweight forward, the horn of the saddle digging hard into his ribs as he tightened his grip around Hannibal's neck, his hands grabbing fistfuls of mane in a desperate attempt to stay on board. As his body slipped further and further down the side of the saddle, he tucked his legs up behind him, his feet gripping ferociously into Hannibal's sensitive flanks, distressing the frightened horse even further.

Hannibal tossed his head violently, yanking the reins out of Dean's hand and given freedom of his head, he took off at a frantic gallop.

"Dean…" Sam screamed after him, watching the bolting horse disappear along the track. He set off to run after it, so he didn't lose sight of Dean, but he could manage little more than a stiff-legged limp; Indiana trailed along behind him, trotting on the end of the reins that Sam had somehow managed to keep a hold of as he fell.

Hannibal, increasingly disturbed by his unbalanced rider, bucked and swerved sharply to free himself of Dean's desperate grasping attempts to stay on, and Sam watched in horror as Dean tumbled backwards across Hannibal's flank, slamming heavily into a large rock as he fell. The speed of the tumble sent him cartwheeling across the dusty, rock-strewn track, before coming to rest as a spreadeagled tangle of limbs in a swirling cloud of dust.

xxxxx

Half running, half hopping as fast as his rapidly stiffening leg would allow, Sam stared at the inert shape on the ground ahead of him, coughing on the drifting dust which hung in the air as he approached.

As he reached his brother, Sam dropped Indiana's rein, leaving the horse to his own devices. He dropped to his knees next to his brother, sucking in a gasp of pain as his hip screamed in protest.

Dean was conscious, but dazed; dirty grazes blackening his right cheekbone and jaw, caused by the roll across the ground Sam guessed. He was attempting to rise, but Sam placed a hand flat on his back to prevent it.

"Stay down dude," he said gently; "I wanna check you over first." He had noticed Dean was panting heavily, Sam wasn't sure if that was pain, adrenaline or any other, more concerning, reason.

He ran experienced hands along Dean's spine, pressing either side of the vertebrae, moving down from the nape of his neck. He could feel the muscles in his brother's back flexing as he tried to move, but the weight of Sam's hand prevented it.

Dean mumbled quietly, Sam could feel the breath rumble through his brother's hunched back and bent lower to hear what Dean had to say.

"S'my, where Han'bal?"

Sam shook his head, "don't know dude; he disappeared off down the trail."

"migh' get hurt…"

"I'm sure he hasn't gone far," Sam reassured his brother, "he's probably already found some tree to eat," he smiled, slipping a hand under Dean's chest, and helping him to sit up. He took note of a sharp hiss of pain at the movement.

It was then he noticed Dean's right arm, heavily grazed through his shredded jacket sleeve, cradled protectively against his chest.

Sam leaned in to support Dean's shoulder; "where does it hurt, dude?" His question more of a device to check Dean's responses than to actually get an answer. "Arm…" Dean whispered with a breathless flinch, looking up at Sam, "arm an' shoul'er…" Sam reached up towards Dean's right shoulder, but he saw the problem before he felt it; a ragged dent across Dean's collarbone.

"Crap" Sam sighed.

Dean blinked as his eyes watered in the settling dust, and he swallowed hard as Sam gently pulled down the neck of his T shirt to see the deep bruises already blossoming over and beneath the broken bone.

He closed his eyes, face tightening in pain, "need t'go fin' Han'bal…"

Sam shook his head, "he'll be fine; I'm callin' help first; I'll go look for him when it gets here."

"Won' get signal;" Dean gestured up to the mountains with his good arm, "mount'ns."

Sam's stomach lurched; he hadn't thought of that. He looked at his cell to see that Dean was right, there was no signal to be had at all. "crap again!"

Sam took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm. First things first, he would need to make Dean comfortable; he could worry about what to do next afterwards. he rubbed Dean's back, "c'mon dude, I'll make you a sling and get you cleaned up." He easn't giving Dean a chance to debate the point.

It was then he remembered the first aid kit was in Hannibal's saddlebag.

"crap, crap, crap!"

He squeezed Dean's good shoulder, "dude, I'm going to have to find Hannibal and bring him back - he's got the first aid kit."

Dean nodded.

"I won't be long;" Sam added, "you gonna be okay?"

Dean nodded again and rolled his eyes, "yeah, I'll be fine", he snorted, still short of breath, "you just take care o' m'little fat buddy when y'find him; he's scared."

Sam grunted as he staggered to his feet, "I promise," he smiled, stretching his stiff leg to try to work some flexibility back into it.

"Your leg hur'?" Dean frowned when he noticed Sam's discomfort.

Sam shrugged, "nothing much - just a bit stiff…"

Dean's frown deepened, but he reluctantly realised he wasn't going to be getting any more information; "bring my M & M's - I wan' chocolate." He called hoarsely after his brother's receding back.

"Bite me" Sam yelled back over his shoulder.

"No, I wanna bite them…" Dean muttered, wincing as he tried and failed to shift his position.

Indiana, who had been paying no attention to the drama going on beside him, glanced up from the unappetising clump of gorse he had found and whittered softly to the injured man.

xxxxx

Sam had been walking about twenty minutes, using the exercise to try to ascertain the damage to his hip. He guessed it wasn't broken or dislocated, just heavily bruised, but that still meant he had inflammation, pain and immobility to look forward to.

He let out a deep sigh; of all the places to be stranded and injured. Damn Winchester luck, it couldn't be in a busy Main Street with a cellphone signal and a hospital half a mile up the road.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he saw something laying across the track way ahead of him; he stopped, bemused, and squinted at the huge, pale brown lump.

As he approached, he realised with horror what it was that he was looking at and stumbled backwards, doubling over as he vomited into the sparse brushwood.

Hannibal's throat had been torn open.

Xxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 4

Sam takes stock of the boys' situation. It's not pretty.

xxxxx

Sam squatted on his haunches by the barren track, his back heaving miserably as he coughed out ribbons of bile and saliva into the sparse scrub around his feet, keeping his eyes tightly closed, unable to look at the horrific sight behind him.

Hannibal's glassy eye stared up at the sky through his long dark lashes; Sam reflected that his hefty dun bulk looked surprisingly flat, and … the blood. Oh God; Sam had never seen so much blood, gallons of the stuff soaking a massive black slick into the dusty ground around the corpse. The coppery stench of it made him gag

His breathing evened out as the nausea subsided and he spat the last dregs of bitter acid into the gorse at his feet, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.

Poor Hannibal.

Sam felt tears stinging his eyes. The brothers had taken this job, it was their choice; they knew the risks. Hannibal didn't; he just went without question or pause where he was told and asked for nothing except a food supply and a bit of affection in return; and for his sterling efforts the poor dude was dead.

Rising on legs like water, Sam stifled a cry as his hip blazed with pain, and limped over to the corpse. He knelt back down with equally pained effort at Hannibal's back and buried his hand into the bushy black mane; "I'm so sorry, big guy," he whispered, tangling his fingers through the coarse black hair. "this damn thing is gonna pay for this; it's not going to hurt another living thing, I promise you that".

He ran the flat of a hand over the hard ridge of Hannibal's withers.

He shuffled along on his knees to Hannibal's haunches and began to unbuckle the straps securing the saddlebags. As he worked, he continued talking to the dead horse. "We're gonna find this freaky scumbag and we're gonna end it's miserable flea-bitten life, this is one Chupacabra that ain't ever gonna see …"

The words died on his lips as his eyes widened in horrible realisation.

The Chupacabra … SHIT! Sam remembered he'd left Dean, sitting alone back up the trail.

Clambering to his feet, Sam stumbled as he tugged on the saddlebags and their harness as hard as he could. When it became obvious that Hannibal's dead weight was trapping one of the bags and no amount of pulling was going to shift it, Sam unclipped it, releasing the topmost bag and, hoping against hope it was the bag that contained the first aid kit, he set off back down the track as fast as he was able, dragging the bag along behind him; He briefly stopped and turned, glancing back to Hannibal; "respect, big man; you're gone but not forgotten," he whispered sadly, then turned and broke into a hobbling trot; his fear for Dean a potent anaesthetic from the pain of his injured hip.

The saddlebag was heavy, an inert weight which slowed him down infuriatingly as he hauled it along behind him over the rocky path. He was edgy, on high alert for every unexpected noise that emerged from the undergrowth and the dark crevasses between the mountains; a rustle in the brushwood turned out to be a jackrabbit; a heavy cracking thud behind him, a falling branch. Sam's head flicked from side to side, his heart pounded in his chest as his overwrought imagination saw the Chupacabra, it's great slavering jaws and vivid red eyes at every turn. He raced clumsily onwards, his numb foot dragging along the ground; he had to get to Dean before the creature.

As he rounded the turn in the trail, a wave of relief washed over him when he saw Dean sitting, quietly, exactly as he'd left him.

xxxxx

Dean looked up he heard Sam approach; "hey, what kep'you dude? You an' Hanny been sharin' out my M&M's?" he asked, the attempt at bravado somewhat ruined by a strained hitch in his breathy voice.

He looked up at Sam and the weighty canvas bag dragging along behind him; seeing, as his brother approached, that he was shaking, flushed face glistening with nervous sweat.

"Dude, you okay?" he asked cautiously; his face paled, taking on a look of wide-eyed dread. " Where's Hannibal?"

"Dead…" Sam replied, red eyes still swimming with tears; the word came out as little more than a croak; "the Chupacabra got him."

Dean's face fell; "dead? the poor dude's dead? Are you sure?"

Sam nodded sadly, "It tore chunks out him, took most of his throat." Sam swallowed back a gag as he relived the terrible sight, "oh God, man; the blood, I've never seen so much blood; it was horrible."

Dean looked down into his lap. "My poor fat buddy … dead." He looked sadly back up to Sam, "We should've gone after him; if I hadn't fallen off him... "

Sam crouched down in front of Dean, grimacing as he forced his hip to bend. "Dean, don't think that way; it's not your fault you fell off when he bolted." Dean shook his head, slyly knuckling his eye with his free hand; "Poor guy, he didn't deserve that."

"I know dude;" Sam fussed over his brother, "but we haven't got time to sit here and mull over it; we can toast Hannibal's memory when we've got ourselves back to safety, but now we've gotta get moving." He scraped a shaking hand through his hair, "the buck, Hannibal; this damn thing's active, and it's hungry."

Dean nodded his silent agreement as Sam dragged the bag toward them and unbuckled it, shoulders slumping in relief when he saw it contained the first aid box; "I'm gonna make you a sling," he looked directly into Dean's face, "an' then, are you up to walking for a bit?"

Dean pressed his arm further into his chest, sucking in a sharp hiss of pain, and nodded unconvincingly. Sam's eyes narrowed; Dean's breathing was still compromised, and Sam didn't like the look of his ashen, hollow-eyed face at all.

"If this mangy sonofabitch can do what he did to a thing the size of Hannibal, we're gonna be no match for it in our condition." Sam continued urgently, feeling the need to reinforce the importance of moving on.

"Where we goin?" asked Dean "Just somewhere we can find a cell signal will be a good start," Sam replied, rifling the first aid kit; "we need to get you to a hospital." Dean shook his head, his speech coming out as staccato phrases between harsh panting breaths; "don' need hospital, we shoul' call Bobby first."

Sam produced a triangular bandage and flapped it open as he spoke, "I don' know dude, for a start, that broken collarbone looks displaced, it might need to be reset, an I think you've done more than just breakin' it, you're not breathing properly." He gently worked the sling up under the arm cradled tightly against Dean's chest; "I want you to get checked out first."

Dean huffed sourly as Sam tipped him forward so he leant against Sam's shoulder and reached round to tie the sling across his back. Sam's heart sank as he realised the fight about the hospital was over with barely a shot being fired. It was practically confirmation that Dean was in a bad way.

Dean winced, "not so tight, mutton paws," he snorted through a wince. Sam fiddled with the knot; "sorry Dude, you shouldn't have such a broad back, there's hardly any slack for me to tie a knot with."

Dean mumbled into Sam's shoulder, "you sayin' I'm fat?"

"No, I didn't say anything about you being … oh, shuddup jerk."

Sam slowly released Dean's arm, and allowed the sling to take up the slack; "how's that bro'?" he asked. "S'kay," Dean whispered with a nod. Sam reached back into the first aid box and pulled out a handful of antiseptic wipes, and began to gently but efficiently dab it over the angry black grazes on his brother's cheek and chin, sighing as Dean grimaced, jerking his head away, "dude, knock't off; s'stings … s'cold …"

Sam treated Dean to a Sam Winchester special eye-roll, "Dean, suck it up, we haven't got time for this."

He continued working over the grazes, ignoring Dean's unco-operative flinching and hissing, gently but firmly lifting the layer of dust and grime out of them until they were both a clean, livid red. "I don't know when we're gonna get any medical attention; I wanna get these clean before infection has a chance to set in."

He handed Dean another wipe and instructed him to clean up the graze on his injured arm as he packed away the first aid kit, stuffing it untidily back into the bag keeping one nervous eye on their surroundings, twitching at every sound like a coiled spring.

Eventually packed up, he slung the heavy bag up behind Indiana's vacant saddle.

He realised that they had been completely neglecting Indiana who stood patiently, watching the activity around him through soft, enquiring brown eyes. Taking up Indiana's reins, Sam ruffled his muzzle sadly, "just you an' us now boy," he whispered softly to his placid friend. Indiana leaned in and whittered quietly, blowing hot breath into Sam's neck.

Sam poured half a bottle of water into a depression in the top of a boulder and allowed Indiana a short drink before leading him across the track and offering Dean a hand, pulling him by his good arm to his feet, gathering him in close, "c'mon dude; we gotta get out of this place before nightfall."

Dean stopped briefly and turned to look back up the path, unmoving despite Sam's urgent tugging. "I'm so sorry big dude," he whispered.

Xxxxx

The brothers and their faithful companion made their way slowly and painfully along the track, supporting each other and their respective injuries, their battered bodies virtually holding each other up.

Sam continuously scanned the track ahead and behind, from side to side; he gripped the rifle in his hand ferociously, his every self-preservation instinct tingling as he listened to every sound which broke the silence; every rustle, every whisper of the breeze through the underbrush, every unforeseen animal noise that sent his pulse racing.

He knew the Chupacabra was a capable hunter by day, but lethal by night. The lore talked of hypnotic red eyes which glowed in the darkness, mesmerising their prey. Sam reckoned they had maybe three hours before dusk and knew they just had to be off this trail by then.

He checked his cell constantly as they limped along, every time willing those little bars that denoted a signal to appear, and every time his shoulders slumped in despair as his cell registered a complete absence of any link to the outside world. He gazed up at the mountains, still looming on both sides of them looking down at the dishevelled little party as they made their slow and precarious way along the trail towards what they hoped would be civilisation and safety.

Sam's agitated mind was a whirl. Should they have taken a guide with them? The farmer had offered the services of his son, but Sam had refused; 'know the track well,' he'd lied confidently. How in heck could he have explained to a guide that they were hunting a Chupacabra? A hairless kangaroo with the evil eye and a mouth like a great white?

He sighed; how long had it taken them to make it this far up the track from their camp? Five hours? Maybe six? But that was when they had been moving briskly on two healthy horses. He did the math, and it just didn't work; now they were moving at a snails pace, one of them could barely walk, the other could barely stand. They had no option; they simply had to find help. Sam took another glance at his cell and stifled a groan.

xxxxx

He suddenly became aware that Dean was leaning into him, heavier and heavier, his strides becoming shorter and shorter. He could hear Dean's distressed panting, and didn't like it at all; it had taken on a sharp edge, a kind of wheezing squeal.

He stopped, and looked down into his brother's grey, sweat beaded face with concern."Hey man, you need a break?" He asked softly.

"Don' feel so good," Dean whispered, slowly folding in the middle.

Sam gripped Dean's shoulders; "Dean, what's wrong, man … Dean?" he watched in horror as Dean's legs buckled beneath him and he sunk to his knees; "S'mmy … hur's"

Crouching down beside his brother, Sam shouted frantically; "Dean … DEAN…" He gripped Dean's shoulders, snaking an arm around his back to support him as he doubled over, gasping for air.

Sam laid Dean back on the ground, leaning him against a log and placed a hand flat against his chest, a soothing touch of comfort as Dean curled sideways, yawning helpless wheezing breaths.

His terrified eyes stared up at Sam. "S'mmy; help me … can' breathe …"

xxxxx

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 5

Sam has to step up to the plate to save Dean's life. It's not easy …

xxxxx

Sam's hands shook wildly as He tried to calm his brother, "can' breathe …" Dean gasped breathlessly, "can' bre … athe …" The words came out in short stuttering bursts between panting, laboured breaths.

"Dean," Sam gasped, tightly gripping his brother's waist for want of knowing what else to do. "what's wrong man? … Oh God, what's wrong with you?"

Heart pounding, he tore open Dean's T shirt in a desperate effort to glean clues to his brother's sudden and terrifying deterioration.

Dean's free hand clawed frantically at Sam's shaking arms as he tugged the tattered T shirt over Dean's good shoulder, muttering frightened and unconvincing reassurances to his distressed brother.

Releasing Dean's sling, Sam carefully lowering his injured arm into his lap and ran a hand over the livid bruising which covered the front of Dean's shoulder, swallowing back a gag at the grotesque kink of his fractured collarbone.

He watched in horror as Dean's chest convulsed in his fight for air; what little breath he could drag into his lungs was taking every ounce of his effort, and his strength was waning fast.

It was then Sam noticed that the movement was almost all on the left side of Dean's chest; the injured side holding disturbingly still.

"S'mmy …" Dean croaked fearfully, glassy eyes impossibly wide; "Sammy; hur's …" he pleaded, his cold, shaking fingers twining nervously in Sam's overshirt; "hel'me … plea… ease …" He forced the words out between yawning gasps.

Sam gently pulled Dean forward, lifting the tattered remains of his T shirt to examine his back.

There were no obvious injuries, but the same horrible lop-side heaving was evident.

He glanced up as he felt hot breath over his crown, ruffling his hair. Sam looked up straight into Indiana's curious face. "Not now big dude," he muttered, reaching up and gently swatting Indiana's face away, as he laid Dean back to lean once again against the fallen log.

Something about Dean's condition flicked a switch in his mind. He couldn't remember if he had seen or read or heard something like this before; the lop-sided breathing, the pain was ringing all sorts of bells.

Curiously, he tapped the paralysed side of Dean's chest with his knuckle, like he was knocking on a door; the sound echoed back to him hollow, resounding like he was banging on a drum.

The pieces fell into place.

Collapsed lung.

"Crap."

xxxxx

Never having personally experienced such a problem, Sam didn't know much about the condition except that it was life-threatening. He glanced back at Dean's clammy face, a blue tinge forming around his lips; and scraped a hand through his fringe. Why here? Why now? He fought the rising urge to panic; that would gain them nothing.

Taking a long slow breath, he reached round pulling the saddlebag towards him, and tipped it up, spilling the contents including the first aid kit over the dusty trail.

"Hang in there bro'," he called back over his shoulder above the increasingly desperate sound of Dean's rasping breaths; glancing back as he rummaged through the first aid kit, Sam could see Dean's head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out starkly, glistening with sweat under the strain of each hard-fought breath.

Sam tore the first aid box apart before he found what he was looking for, he grasped the tatty blue book to his chest in a moment's sweet relief when he eventually found it.

The book had previously belonged to his father, now it belonged to the boys. The dog-eared little book was over thirty years old and held together with sticky tape and, most importantly, it had earned it's place in amongst the boys' arsenal more than once, but never in a situation as dire as this.

'The US Marine Corps Handbook of Field Medicine.'

Sam gently gripped Dean's knee, just to remind him he was there; "gonna sort you out real soon, bro'." he reassured softly.

He flicked through the tattered pages until he found the chapter which covered chest trauma; in particular collapsed lungs, and began to rapidly scan the words.

The text confirmed Sam's diagnosis:

Often caused by a blunt trauma to the chest - check

Lop sided breathing - check

Extreme pain on breathing - check

The affected side sounds hollow - check

His heart sank and his stomach flip-flopped as he read on.

Trauma related collapsed lung is often life threatening and requires immediate emergency treatment.

He wiped tears from his eyes with a shaking hand as he read the rest of the page, fighting the urge to throw up.

xxxxx

He knelt beside Dean, and began to knead the back of his neck. He wiped his eyes so that Dean couldn't see his distress.

"I'm gonna help you dude," he swallowed hard as he continued, "you've got a collapsed lung and I've gotta release all the air from inside your chest so your lung isn't squashed any more."

He continued to squeeze the back of Dean's neck, which was corded in rock hard strain as his head arched backwards in his weakening fight for breath. His eyes flickered towards Sam, who knew that it was the only response he could give.

"But, I'm sorry dude, I'm afraid it's gonna hurt;" Sam stifled a gag, "I can't do this without hurting you."Dean's hand squeezed a fistful of Sam's shirt, and Sam knew that was his go ahead; confirmation that Dean knew what had to be done, and that any pain inflicted was already forgiven.

Knowing they had no syringes in their first aid kit, Sam had to think of other options. "C'mon Sam, think …" he scolded himself. He needed something that was man enough for the job of piercing Dean's chest wall without leaving a wound so big he would bleed to death instead of suffocate.

Then it came to him in flash of inspiration; a darning needle.

The brothers didn't have the funds to just replace the numerous items of clothing and underwear that got damaged and worn, so they did running repairs. That is to say, Sam did running repairs; Sewing was, as Dean had reminded him on several occasions, women's work and, therefore, right up his street.

xxxxx

Sam gently laid Dean out flat on the ground with his folded hoodie under his head, laying the book out beside him and re-read the passage which explained in nauseating detail the process of 'aspiration' he was about to follow. He took a deep, stuttering breath and counted down two ribs below the collarbone; he swabbed the spot between them with an antiseptic wipe, using another to sterilise the thick 4-inch needle he held in his shaking hand.

Placing the needle point down on the bruised ridge between the two ribs just below the collarbone; he fought not to close his eyes. Under any 'normal' circumstances he would never even want to watch a procedure like this, never mind inflict it on his brother with his own two quivering, sweat-soaked hands.

"I'm sorry Dean," he whispered and pressed down the needle, piercing the skin easily, Dean jolted, his gasps hitching into a pained hiss, but as hard as Sam pressed, once the needle hit the dense muscle layer beneath the skin, Sam's sweaty fingers slipped down the shaft and it went nowhere.

Dean gasps rose to a breathless squeal as he arched against the pain. Sam cursed, gripping the needle again and pressing it hard, into the twitching, flickering skin, but to no avail as his sweaty fingers simply slipped down the thin metal shaft again. He cursed again; louder this time. He wanted to get this over quickly for Dean's sake.

He stared down at the thick needle embedded in his brother's stocky, muscular chest. "Jeez Dean" he snorted, pushing down on the needle again, "why can't you be some puny runt with no friggin' muscles?" He snorted, "why've you gotta have a chest like a friggin' brick wall?"

He was hurting Dean, that much was clear; and it tore Sam to pieces. He scraped a soaking hand across his face and, in desperation, he picked up the little book and slammed it down on the head of the needle, cringing as he heard Dean muster a hoarse screech. The needle's point drilled down through the thick muscle layer, and pierced the chest wall with a muffled pop. There was a hiss as a bubbling ring of foamy blood began to form around the shaft of the needle.

Sam, carefully pulled the needle out, keeping his hand pressed flat on Dean's chest to hold him down as he squirmed, teeth gritted against the pain.

As the point of the needle emerged with a quiet sucking sound, it was followed by a bubbling hiss as more watery scarlet foam flowed over the tiny puncture wound, spraying upwards in a fine red mist as the trapped air burst out under intense pressure. Sam continued to hold his hand flat against Dean's chest, gently rubbing small circles to reassure his brother as he still gasped for breath.

Eventually the hissing subsided, and Sam swabbed the lightly bleeding wound with their last antiseptic wipe, taping the little plastic bag which had previously held the wipes over it, leaving an opening so that the air could still trickle out.

Job done, he sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose and watched Dean intensely. He seemed a little calmer; his breathing, although still seriously strained was definitely easier. "How ya doin' bro?" he asked softly, lifting Dean back up into a sitting position against the log and leaning over him to fasten his sling again. Finally, he wrapped his hoodie around Dean's shivering shoulders. "I'm real sorry about all that, dude," he sighed.

Dean's eyes drooped closed, and he leaned closely into Sam's solid presence; "m'b-better, S'm … my, th-thanks."

xxxxx

It was getting dark, and Sam reluctantly accepted he wouldn't be able to go seeking help now. They were going to have to try to sit out the night, Sam knew he would have to find help in the morning; he was painfully aware that Dean wasn't out of the woods; far from it. All he had done was bought Dean some time.

He looked up to see Indiana's big muzzle filling his field of vision again and smiled, taking the time to ruffle the horse's velvet nose; "sorry I pushed you away earlier, big dude," he whispered, rubbing the horse's long, flat forehead.

Indiana cocked his head, and Sam gazed into his big, liquid chocolate eyes. "I'm gonna need you to help me stay awake dude," he smiled, "I can't go to sleep - not tonight."

He patted Indiana's neck, and glanced across to Dean, his eyes closed as he leaned heavier into Sam's shoulder; "Someone's gotta keep both your asses safe from the Chupacabra."

Indiana whittered softly and tossed his head. It could have been a nod.

xxxxx

Sam gathered up his rifle, and placed his a hand on his dozing brother's head as he watched Dean, on alert for changes in the pattern of his harsh breathing.

As the night progressed, and Dean had settled as much as he was going to be able to; Sam sat and listened out at the sounds around them; the warm breeze rustling through the trees, the scrabbling of small animals in the undergrowth, Indiana's restless shuffling and stamping. He closed his eyes briefly and pondered how, on this otherwise beautiful Summers' night they could be in such a dire straights. He gazed up at the stars and thought back, scarcely believing that it was only this morning that he was basking in the bliss of an idyllic Summer dawn. It seemed like a lifetime away.

The chirping of a million crickets and his brother's rhytmic wheezing began to have a soporific effect after the evening's dramas; Sam's eyes began to droop, and the fight not to doze off became more and more of a challenge. He clung to his brother, his fingers carding through Dean's spiky hair; taking his own comfort from the contact; comfort which added to his fatigue. Everything suddenly seemed so peaceful, so quiet … Sam began to succumb to the pull of rest.

A rest which was abruptly interrupted on hearing a heavy rustling crunch in the undergrowth behind them.

xxxxx

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 6

Just when you think your luck can't possibly get any worse, something just turns up and surprises the heck out of you.

xxxxx

Sam jolted awake as he heard a sudden heavy crunch in the undergrowth behind them.

He shuffled stiffly out from under his sleeping brother's head which was resting limply on his shoulder. Dean blinked blearily at the movement and opened his mouth to speak, but managed only a wheezing huff as he slowly keeled over without Sam's solid support.

Sam's grip tightened on the rifle as he reached out with his free hand to steady the listing figure beside him. As he scrambled to his feet, stamping down on his injured leg to try to coax some movement and feeling back into it, he heard the sound again; another heavy cracking rustle seeming closer this time. It was the sound of whole bushes and not just undergrowth grasses being trodden down.

Indiana's head jerked up giving a sharp snort of alarm and he shied backwards, squealing as the rein tethering him to a nearby tree sprung tight. He pulled against the taut rein stamping and fidgeting fretfully as he wheeled round, turning his back to the menacing noises.

The sound fell silent, and Sam's heart pounded in his chest as his instincts spiked. He didn't like it; not one bit. Stepping over the log he effectively placed himself as a barrier between Dean and whatever it was out there in the dark.

"S'mmy … Chu…pa …? " Dean whispered hoarsely, unable to finish the question.

"Shhhh … let me listen, dude," Sam whispered as he carefully scanned the darkness through the trees, pausing to focus on a quivering bush; his breathing quickening as he squinted through the impenetrable blackness.

Nothing.

Sam exhaled slowly. Perhaps he was imagining it; perhaps it was just the breeze rustling through the bushes. Maybe it was a raccoon or something; those things could be heavy and destructive.

He felt himself start to relax and glanced round to Dean who was leaning crookedly over the log, his unfocussed eyes looking up at him from under heavy lids. Letting the barrel of the rifle dip, he gave out a shaky sigh and glanced back up into the darkness.

Straight into two glowing red eyes.

xxxxx

Stumbling backwards in shock, Sam almost dropped the rifle. He fumbled it back into a firing position and loosed off a hasty shot in the direction of the eyes, hearing a gasp as Dean flinched behind him at the noise of the shot.

The eyes continued to stare through the darkness at him, unblinking.

"S'mmy … Sa …" Dean's struggling breath caught in his chest as he tried to look round, letting out a hoarse grunt of pain as the action pulled on his broken collarbone.

Sam stood rooted to the ground, staring helplessly at the two red orbs; unable break their gaze. At the back of his mind, a creeping sense of dread began to weigh heavily on him as he remembered reading something a long time ago about the Chupacabra having a hypnotic gaze; mesmerising it's prey into submission, making it easier for the heavy, cumbersome creature to kill. He hoped to hell that wasn't the case, because if it was - he was screwed.

The eyes moved slowly towards him in a jerking, bobbing motion which made him feel slightly nauseous; as he watched, his trembling finger curled around the rifle's trigger. He didn't want to waste this shot - he had to wait until he could be sure it was right on target.

Slowly, by stages, the moonlight began to pick out it's shape as it approached. It was, Sam guessed, the size of a very large dog; moving towards him at a loping hop on it's hind legs, it's clawed forelegs curled up beneath it's chest. It's skin, hairless, save for a lank, oily mane along the top of it's head and back, glistened like wet suede.

Dean struggled, trying to turn round. He wanted to climb over the log to help Sammy, but damnit, his stupid broken body was simply refusing to co-operate; he gasped miserably, desperate to call out to Sam, but his compromised lungs squeezed all the sound out of his voice, leaving only a rasping croak.

Staring into those glowing red eyes as the creature stalked towards him in it's peculiar hopping gait, Sam watched in dismay as it's head remained motionless, maintaining that dizzying eye contact; never blinking, never breaking it's gaze. It was close enough now that he could hear it's snuffling, rattling breaths and smell it's rank odour.

His hands shook as he held the rifle. He knew it was close enough now for him to hit it point blank; he couldn't miss. But he simply wasn't able squeeze the trigger.

It had him.

Those terrible red eyes; he had unwittingly fallen under it's spell.

xxxxx

It leaned back on it's haunches, ready to spring, never breaking that mesmerising eye contact; behind him Sam could hear Dean's breathless gasps and his feet scrabbling in the gravel as he tried to stand, desperate to help his stupefied brother.

Suddenly, with a flash of chestnut and a crack of shattering bones, the creature was flung aside as the quiet, placid horse that Sam had completely forgotten about in all the drama, landed a vicious kick into it's side.

The eye contact broken, Sam snapped back into his senses and lunged over to the prone creature as it lay squealing and writhing weakly on the ground, the side of it's rib-cage caved in.

Sam pressed the rifle against it's head and fired.

As the muffled shot sounded, the jerking body slumped into stillness.

xxxxx

Sam stood panting for a moment, then looked across to Indiana, who gazed amiably back at him. He strode over and lavishly ruffled the horse's big velvet muzzle.

"You great big badass, you…" he gasped joyfully, slapping Indiana's neck.

Dean peered round, as far as his injuries would allow, "wha' … goin' on?" He gasped between agitated breaths; "s'mmy … y'okay?"

Sam turned, and hopped back over the log; "s'all good Dean, Indiana iced the Chupacabra."

Dean stared at him. "Indi … ana … killed it?" He paused, wincing as he drew in a pained breath; "Y'got ... y'ass ... outfought by … a horse?"

Sam grinned broadly, "yep dude; I totally did."

He dropped to his knees on his brother's good side, and fussed over Dean's sling; "how you doin, bro'?"

Dean gave a tight lipped nod, "m'good" he croaked.

Sam patted him on his good shoulder, and got up, reaching for his handgun. He walked back over to the Chupacabra, and although it was fairly obviously dead, for his own peace of mind, he emptied an entire clip into it's head.

"That's for Hannibal." He stated coolly.

xxxxx

Sam cracked open a bottle of water and knelt down before Dean, supporting his head as he held the bottle to his lips. Dean managed two faltering gulps then stopped to catch his breath, Sam gently kneading the back of his neck to reassure and help him as he pulled in the painful breaths.

They carried on in that fashion until Dean had managed to take in around a quarter of the bottle. Sam took a couple of long, deep gulps from it; taking care to reserve the remainder for their hero standing quietly behind them, chewing contentedly on an uprooted shrub.

Sam slowly sat down on the ground at Dean's uninjured side, stifling a groan of pain as his abused hip screamed in protest, and gathered Dean into him. He smiled as Dean leaned, unresisting into his shoulder. He would stay like this for the rest of the night; holding his brother, rubbing his back to ease his breathing, listening to Dean's strained gasps on sharp alert for any signs of deterioration.

He decided that as soon as there was enough light, it was down to him to go and find help. With the Chupacabra dead, it would be safe to leave Dean for a little while, wouldn't it?

He didn't see that he had a choice.

xxxxx

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 7

Dean takes a turn for the worse ... Sam's running out of options.

xxxxx

Sam blinked blearily and glanced down at his watch, as he was awoken from an uncomfortable catnap by Dean shifting. It was 8 am; he had been awake when dawn had broken a good couple of hours ago and he silently cursed himself for falling asleep again. Stretching stiffly, he yawned, knowing his first job this fine morning was to seek help; not just seek it. Find it.

He had spent the night holding his brother tight, listening to every one of Dean's harsh, pained breaths, subconsciously comparing each to the previous one; listening for any kind of change or deterioration. It was just before dawn; the last time he had heard Dean's voice, that Sam's gnawing concern had racheted up a notch when Dean had begun shifting fretfully and murmuring between his pained breaths. Sam thought he'd heard his own name mentioned a couple of times, but couldn't hear what was being said.

He leaned in closer; "hey dude, what is it? You need something?"

Dean whispered again, the only word that Sam caught was his own name.

"You thirsty?" he softly rubbed Dean's arm, "c'mon man, what's wrong?"

Dean shifted again. "Where S … S'm?"

Sam's brow furrowed, "where am I? I'm right here, dude…" he reassured softly, his hand moving up to rub his brother's unkempt hair, "hey Dean, why don't you look at me, then you can see where I am."

Dean blinked slowly, but otherwise didn't move, "tell … S-s'mmy … breakfast."

Sam stared at him, "Dude?"

"e-eat … his break … fast; oth'wise … late f'school …"

Sam's heart sank.

"Hey Dean, wake up man, you're dreaming…" Sam whispered, hoping against hope it was, indeed, a dream.

Sam turned to pick up the water bottle and offered Dean a drink.

Dean shook his head. "S'mmy … needs'is … breakfast…" He panted harshly for a moment, "get … hungry a'school …"

Gathering Dean in as tightly as he dared, he spoke softly as he tried to reach his confused brother; "Hey Dean, knock it off; you're scarin' me man."

He looked intently into Dean's face, trying to make some kind of connection with the empty, half closed eyes; trying to see past the dark smudges beneath them, the sickly grey pallor which had leeched any trace of colour out of his face, the tightness across his brow and lips formed of constant pain. He carded his fingers through Dean's hair, "I don't go to school any more dude;" he murmured softly, "I'm way too big an' ugly for school now."

Dean 's mouth worked around his rasping gulps; "need t'find … S'mmy …" it was with deepening concern that Sam saw the blue tinge had set in again around his lips.

He pressed the water bottle to Dean's mouth, taking small comfort when he drunk enthusiastically, pausing between each heaving breath until he had emptied half the bottle.

Sam felt Dean's head sink into his neck as he watched the pale rays of the morning sun spreading upwards over the foothills, heralding a warm and bright start to the new day. A day that would bring the help that Dean so desperately needed.

Sam would make sure of it.

Xxxxx

His mind began to race through all the things he would need to do. Dean had taken a turn for the worse; that much was certain. Sam had known he would deteriorate without the medical help he needed, but he hadn't counted on the deterioration being so sudden, so terrifying. Now he realised he couldn't be away wandering the landscape looking all over for help that might not be there - he had to be a swift as possible, and his guessed his best chance was to try to find that elusive cellphone signal.

That's all he needed; a cellphone signal; that's all. Just one stupid pissy little bar.

They weren't that far from civilisation; it wasn't like they were on Mars or anything. He scanned the trail and guessed if he climbed up one of the foothills that might prove to be his best chance of finding a signal long enough to call 911. If not, he might at least be high enough to scan for any signs of life.

Of course, what his injured hip would have to say about doing that was another matter. It had been drifting between tingling numbness, burning pain and throbbing ache all night, becoming so immobile that he was reduced to walking in a kind of stiff legged shimmy, but he didn't give a crap. He would climb the damn hill in handstands if that's what it took to get the help Dean needed.

Sam watered Indiana, ruffling the his smooth forelock as he did so, then left the gentle horse with whispered orders to look after Dean until he got back.

Kneeling down beside Dean, Sam placed a hand on his neck and his heart lurched as he looked into the unfocussed green eyes; they stared dully back through him, squeezing tightly closed with each painful breath. They barely registered his existence.

"Dean" he whispered, "hey man, wanna drink before I go?"

His brother's face registered no flicker of response as he continued his long and fading battle for breath.

That was all Dean could focus on now; his world had shrunk to each pained, wrenching breath that he could force into his body, trying to fight against the dwindling supply of oxygen which was gradually shutting him down.

Xxxxx

It took a desperately long time before Sam could bring himself to leave his brother.

"I'm just going to take a walk up that hill there to try and get us some help," he murmured, bending low to look directly and closely into Dean's face, seeing his eyes closed; "you gonna be okay dude?"

Sam wasn't sure if the barely perceptible nod was a positive response or simply gravity working on Dean's sagging head.

"I'm not gonna be long, okay? And you'll be able to see me right until I get to the top. " He reached and laid a palm against Dean's cold clammy face, taking care not to touch the bruised grazes from the original fall; and took a deep breath, "don't you go doin' anything stupid when I'm off up there, you hear me?"

His thumb absently traced the curve of Dean's cheekbone, as he blinked back tears. "I couldn't do that Dean;" swallowing hard as he fought to compose himself, "don't make me come back and find you …"

For a moment the only sound was a series of harsh wheezing breaths, before Dean's eyes finally lifted to meet Sam's. The merest spark of acknowledgement flickered across them before they closed again.

xxxxx

Sam began the long trek to the top of the hill, moving as swiftly as he could. Every step he took felt like a red hot iron skewering his hip, but he soldiered on, stumbling over the loose shale, turning every few strides to look back down at Dean.

With virtually every step of his laborious journey, he checked his cell, growing more frustrated and scared by the second; "c'mon … c'mon … pick up a signal you sonofabitch …"

He was about three quarters of the way along the track heading towards the crest of the hill when he turned to look down on Dean once more. Another fruitless check of his mobile; he sighed … sure he was high, but the mountains blocking the signals around him were a heck of a lot higher.

A darkness began to bear down on him, a sense of overpowering hopelessness and despair, as he turned to look back at Dean's unmoving figure once more. As he stared down, he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something which drew his attention.

A flash of colour.

Way below him, along the trail, Sam guessed, about a kilometer from where Dean lay slumped against the log were two figures in red overalls.

Sam stopped and stared, blinking against the sunlight; barely able to believe what he could see. Relief engulfed him as he opened his lungs and screamed at the top of his voice …

"HEY … YOU GUYS … OVER HERE …"

xxxxx

The two figures had already reached Dean by the time Sam had scrambled clumsily back down the hill. Falling over twice, he presented himself to them with he knees torn out of his jeans, the blood from one of his grazed knees staining his shin.

"Parks Authority Search and Rescue;" the taller of the two men introduced himself, "I'm Jim, this is Allan. What's your name, buddy?" Sam noted that Allan was already on his knees in front of Dean, monitoring his desperately heaving chest, pressing two fingers against his neck.

Sam panted wildly, and doubled over leaning his hands on his knees; "I'm Sam; oh God … thank God; you gotta help my brother, Dean; he got a collapsed lung and a broken collarbone." Jim reached out, grasping Sam's elbow to steady him.

"Okay Sam, Dean's in good hands, Allan there's a paramedic;" He smiled, looking Sam up and down, "are you okay? You look a bit banged up yourself." he added.

"Uh, yeah, whatever ... I'm good …" Sam responded absently, watching as his barely conscious brother received Allan's confident attentions.

"He started getting delirious this morning," he called across, "then he stopped being able to talk altogether." Sam's voice tailed off into a plea. "Please help him … please. Look, he can hardly breathe."

Allan strapped an oxygen mask onto Dean's face, and folded his stethoscope away, looking up at his colleague. "Severe respiratory distress; this guy needs immediate hospitalisation."

Jim looked up at Sam. "We've got an ambulance truck about a mile up on an access track, that's about as close as we could get; you up to walking, Sam?"

Sam nodded, then stopped "what about Indiana?" He gestured over to the tall chestnut who stood patiently beside the log, curiously overseeing Allan's efficient examination of Dean.

"We brought a horse trailer too."

xxxxx

Sam blinked, hesitating; "I don't understand; how did you find us? I couldn't call anyone - couldn't get a signal on my cellphone."

Jim stepped past Sam to help Allan manoeuvre a telescopic stretcher down on the ground next to Dean.

He looked back to Sam as he worked; "the authority got a call late last night from the wife of a farmer to say that she had good reason to believe two campers who had rented two of their horses had gotten into serious trouble out here." He slipped his hand under Dean's shoulders as Allan took his ankles and the two men hoisted him onto the stretcher.

"They knew you were planning to come out on this part of the trail; and seemed to think you'd got into trouble with the rogue cougar that's been killing the livestock recently."

Sam stared at him, confused. "Uh, rogue cougar? Uh, yeah, the rogue cougar..." He watched Dean being strapped onto the stretcher, "yeah, um … damn thing killed one of the horses, that's how Dean had his accident." he stepped back to allow the two men to lift the stretcher; "we killed it," he added, "shot it in the head; it - um - crawled away to die. No idea where it's body is."

"Sounds like you did everyone a good service then; it won't be giving anyone any trouble any more." Jim responded with a heave as he and his partner lifted the stretcher.

Sam swiftly untethered Indiana, and set off after the two men as they carried the stretcher smartly along the track toward the truck, racking his brain to try to work out how the farmer's wife could possibly know they had got into trouble.

Xxxxx

The ambulance truck pulled up outside a bustling ER, and Dean was carried urgently through it's swinging doors by their two rescuers.

As Sam limped through the door behind them to see a swarm of medical experts descend upon his brother, he finally succumbed to the overwhelming relief of seeing Dean in the good hands of the people who would mend him.

He smiled and crumpled slowly into a dead faint.

Xxxxx

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 8

Dean is in good hands and at last Sam can take some well-earned rest to forget about the nightmare of the last couple of days; until, that is, he remembers just how challenging a post-anaesthesia older Winchester can be …

xxxxx

Sam sat on a hard examination couch in the ER cubicle where he had spent the last couple of hours, his head still spinning wildly from the morning's turn of events. This whole job had been like one seriously bad trip; swinging wildly between blissful peace and solitude save for listening to Dean moaning about his saddlesore ass to the agony and terror of watching his battered brother practically dying before his very eyes.

Shifting uncomfortably on the hard couch, he winced as his hip, finally getting the rest it needed, reminded him that he was far from forgiven for the damage he had inflicted on himself.

A series of x-rays and a ridiculously painful manual examination had turned up the unsurprising fact that he had a severely bruised hipbone. Most of the current, most excrutiating damage, however, had been inflicted by his constant movement and use of the damaged joint after the fall. When the doctors had started talking about heavy bleeding into the surrounding tissues, inflammation pressing down on nerves, and all sorts of other shit that was doctor-speak for 'your hip is crapped to hell Sam, and it's your own fault,' that's when Sam had switched his ears off; switching them back on only when the medics started talking about him not going anywhere without crutches for the next two weeks.

Sam sighed. He was clumsy enough on his own two feet; understandable really - the damn things were so far away from his brain, it was only to be expected that a few synaptic connections would get crossed on the way down, but throw two long metal poles into the mix and bitter experience had shown that he all too often became a weapon of mass destruction.

But if crutches were what it had to be then, that's what it had to be.

xxxxx

The simple truth of the matter was that Sam really didn't care about his hip. Couldn't give a crap quite frankly; so it hurt – boo hoo, he'd had worse, and he'd got over that too.

The only thing he could focus on at the moment was Dean. There had been no sign and no word since the moment they had made their dramatic entrance in the ER unit to a ringing chorus of urgent voices; shouting and yelling, "pneumothorax," "field aspiration," "hypoxia," and all sorts of other terrifying words; a wall of sound into which Dean had disappeared, and as yet, not emerged.

Sam's heart skipped a beat as the door handle dipped, and the door was pushed open by a white-coated figure.

"Sam Watson?"

Sam looked up, "Uh, yeah."

"Hello Sam, I'm Doctor Morgan, and I've been taking care of your brother. I'd like to give you an update on his condition."

Sam shifted, trying to sit up straighter, gasping as a bolt of pain from his hip sliced through him.

Doctor Morgan watched him move; "have they given you anything for the pain?"

Sam nodded, "yeah, I'm good. How is he?" The anxiety was written across his face.

"I'm not going to lie to you Sam;" Morgan began, "your brother is a very lucky man."

Sam allowed himself a twitch of a smile; lucky? That had to be good right?

"He had a broken rib directly underneath his broken collarbone," explained the Doctor, "that's what punctured his lung." He paused long enough to let his Sam take in the news then continued; "that procedure you did out there on the trail prolonged his life, Sam. He's got you to thank for the fact that the rescue service were able to get him to us in time."

Sam gathered his thoughts; he could feel himself shaking as he thought back to the terrible thing he had to do. His stomach lurched at the memory.

"Why did he go downhill so fast?" He asked quietly.

Morgan took a seat in the chair next to the bed; "the aspiration procedure takes the pressure off the collapsed lung but, if the lung is damaged, as Dean's was, it doesn't necessarily enable it to reinflate," he explained patiently. "What it meant is that his lung was still damaged, it just wasn't under pressure."

He continued, "so although you did this, and it helped a lot, that lung still wasn't working properly and that, in turn, was putting too much pressure on his good lung, which eventually started to give out and collapse under the strain."

Sam looked horrified; he had no idea that Dean had been in such a bad way. He'd have moved things along a lot quicker if he had realised.

Seeing Sam's obvious shock, Morgan smiled reassuringly; "I say, once again, your brother is a very lucky man. If you had got here only a couple of hours later, I would have been sitting here telling you something completely different.

Recovering his senses, Sam spoke up in a small voice; "can I see him?"

The doctor rose, and nodded in Sam's direction; "sure; he's just coming out of surgery, but once they've given him all the necessary checks and moved him to a bed in ICU, I'll take you right there."

Sam bolted upright; "Surgery?" he snapped in panic; "you never said anything about surgery."

Morgan sat down again; "well, we had to reset the rib and collarbone to prevent any further damage to the lung." He waited to see if any further questions were forthcoming, when they weren't he continued, "we've also repaired the damaged lung, and put a line into his chest to stop the pressure building up until the lung heals fully."

Sam stared at the doctor's face; "but he's okay right?"

Morgan smiled, "of course, with any kind of invasive treatment in a non-sterile environment, there is always going to be a big risk of infection, so he will be on a very powerful antibiotic drip for a few days."

Sam nodded.

"But, as far as I'm aware, everything went fine," Morgan added cheerfully. "We've put him on oxygen to boost his breathing and I'm afraid he'll be very sore for a while from the injury and the surgery, so he'll be on some very strong painkillers which might make him a bit groggy."

Morgan stood up once again, and beckoned Sam; "but I'm sure he'd love to have you there for when he comes round from the anaesthetic."

Sam eased himself off the couch, and gathering up his crutches he allowed himself a small, crooked smile. It was a long time since he'd witnessed the spectacle of his brother emerging from a general anaesthetic; with a cocktail of plutonium strength painkillers and turbo-powered antibiotics thrown into the mix there was no telling what could happen. Whatever happened, it was likely to be entertaining, and Sam had no intention of missing the show.

xxxxx

Doctor Morgan quietly pushed the door open, and gestured for Sam to enter the room. Manouevring himself through on his crutches, he misjudged the gap and crunched his knee on the doorframe.

Hobbling into the room, he cursed softly before turning to face the bed in the powder-blue room. As he looked down, his breath caught in his throat..

Lying propped up almost in a sitting position in the bed, Dean looked so deathly pale, Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut when he looked down on the ashen face. His knees buckled and he leaned heavily on the chair beside the bed, lowering himself shakily into it without taking his eyes from his brother's still form.

A broad expanse of gauze was taped over his right shoulder, upper arm and the right side of his chest, with his arm folded in a sling over the top of it. Sam swallowed as he noticed the outline of a tube or some sort of line disappearing up under the dressing; that must be the line Doc. Morgan was talking about. Sam closed his eyes; he didn't want to know the gory details.

Nodding his thanks as Doctor Morgan took his leave, with assurances that Dean could start to wake up any time, Sam turned back to the bed. He simply would never get the hang of how small and young and helpless his brother looked asleep in a hospital bed.

He just sat and stared helplessly at Dean's gaunt, hollow cheeks and colourless lips, partially obscured by the nasal cannula which snaked across them, watching as his dark lashes stood out starkly against his pallid complexion, the light peppering of freckles across the bridge of his nose the only colour evident in his ivory-pale face.

Sam shuffled round, pushing his crutches out of his way, and swearing as they tangled around his unco-ordinated feet, bashing against the chair leg.

He briefly turned away form the bed to prop his crutches up against the wall, and let out a muttered oath as they slid down the wall, clattering across the floor.

Sam frowned, glancing up to the ceiling and counted to ten. Hate. friggin. crutches.

xxxxx

He looked back to the bed and his frustration dissipated instantly. How the hell does he do that? Sam smiled; he's four years older than me and he looks like he could be my damn son lying there!

Leaning forward, he gently brushed Dean's limp fringe back across his forehead, giving him a pale imitation of the aggressive spike he generally liked to arrange his hair into. He smiled at his handiwork; nope, sorry Dean, you still look more like a fourth grader than like a badass monster hunter.

As his eyes scanned the pure white gauze, Sam gritted his teeth when he thought of the extensive surgical work that had gone on under there, wondering what terrifying scars would be revealed when all the dressings were eventually removed.

He pulled the chair as close to the bed as he could and leaned across, sliding a flat hand under the back of his brother's neck. He absently threaded his fingers through the back of Dean's spiky hair and sat, just waiting for his brother to start coming back to him.

Xxxxx

It took less than an hour; and it was a shallow sigh which started the process.

Sam noticed Dean's eyes flicker beneath the closed lids, and smiled as his freckled nose twitched.

"Hey dude, you wakin' up?" Sam murmured, smiling as he continued to knead his brother's warm nape, "about time!"

The slow rhythm of Dean's breathing hitched, and his head rocked slightly as he let out another huffing sigh, this time opening his eyes for just a moment.

Sam leaned over, desperate to be in his brother's line of vision; "hey dude; you gonna say hi?"

Dean's glassy green eyes fluttered open again and latched onto the figure above him, his nose twitched again as the heavy-lidded eyes slowly focussed on Sam.

"Hey, bro', I know I'm a sight for sore eyes, but you can say something if you like," Sam teased.

Dean's mouth moved before any sound came out; it was on the fourth attempt that the wheezing huff turned into a sound.

"…'my?"

Sam grinned, ruffling the clammy back of Dean's hair; "that's me bro'. Man, it's good to see you."

The eyes lost their focus and began to droop.

"Hey bro', I've just got you back," Sam whispered, leaning in as close to Dean as he dared, "don't you go off again; not just yet."

"…m'I?"

"You're in hospital, dude." Sam continued to rub Dean's neck as he spoke, reassured as he felt Dean lean back into the touch; "they've fixed all your broken bits and you're gonna be just fine."

"m's-sore ass?"

Ah, okay. That was a curve ball. Sam choked back a snigger, "uh no, I don't remember them saying anything about fixing your sore ass, dude. I think you might just have to deal with that yourself until it gets better."

Dean slowly turned his head, and looked at Sam from under a long blink.

"… 'my?"

"Yeah dude?"

"S'pala?"

Sam grinned, he was waiting for that one; that was usually the first question. "She's fine, man; Bobby's looking after her."

"…'my?"

Sam bit his lip, trying so very hard not to laugh; "yes dude?"

Dean hesitated, taking a deep breath as if he were about to say something of great importance.

"Shegott'go … ou'side."

Sam listened closely to the hoarse whisper, a look of amused bewilderment spreading across his face. "Uh, yeah dude, she'll go outside; Bobby's not gonna take her to bed with him."

"…'my?"

Oh God; the struggle not to laugh was getting harder. Sam's bottom lip was turning white between his teeth; he folded his arms; "yes dude?"

"Where 'm'I?"

Sam rubbed his face.

"Hospital dude;" he guided Dean's unfocussed eyes down to the gauze on his chest and his sling. "You've had an operation to fix your collarbone and stuff."

Dean stared, wide-eyed, straight into Sam's face.

"collberlone?"

Sam snorted as he fought to compose himself; "yeah that's right dude, whatever the damn thing's called – they fixed it," he grinned.

Dean swallowed, and his brows knotted into a grimace.

Sam caught the grimace, and had no intention of letting it go; "you in pain bro?"

"in 'opistal…."

Sam prayed to a higher power to help him as he sat, wiping away the tears of unborn hilarity.

"I know you're in hopista - I mean hospital dude, but are you in pain? In hospital?" he asked again.

Dean's chest lifted into a deep sigh; "m'ass!"

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

Settling into a disorientated silence, Dean blinked slowly, scanning the room through the fog of anaesthetic. Sam picked up a carton of juice from the nightstand and offered it to Dean; "C'mon bro'," he whispered, "have a drink."

Dean drifted slightly cross eyed as he stared at the carton in front of him and opened his mouth, allowing Sam to guide the straw toward him. "There you go, dude," he smiled as Dean's lips latched onto the straw and he began to drink enthusiastically.

Sam tossed the empty carton into the trashcan, then sat back down, leaning back over his brother and watching as he sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

"You gonna have a nap bro?"

"… 'my?"

Sam smiled; "what dude?"

"…n-nap."

"Yeah, you do that," Sam gently rubbed his brother's cheek, trying to avoid the dry, livid grazes, "have a little sleep bro', I'll still be here when you wake up."

He watched again as Dean's brows knotted, and leaned over him in concern; "you sure you're ok dude?" He asked, "you gotta tell me if you're in pain."

"…'my?"

Sam smiled with a sigh, "yes dude?"

"…a-ass sore."

"Apart from that," he chuckled, "the doctor isn't gonna give you a morphine shot for your sore ass."

"maureen?"

"morphine, dude."

"… sor'ass."

Sam shook with silent laughter and scraped a hand through his hair. "What about here bro?" he pointed to the gauze, "what about your shoulder?"

Dean's head dipped as he squinted down onto his chest; "soldier?"

Sam was starting to think he would benefit from a dose of morphine himself.

"Yes dude, your soldier – does it hurt?"

"'s ass hur's."

Sam scratched his head; "your shoulder's ass hurts?"

Dean yawned, nodding absently.

"… 'my."

Sam gritted his teeth, snorting as he stifled a chuckle; "what dude?"

"Coc'nut …"

Sam stared at his brother. Well, that was random.

"Coconut?"

Dean murmured something unintelligible through a wide yawn; and then settled down, looking back up at Sam.

"wan' coc'nut …" he whispered absently, closing his eyes.

Sam was about to investigate this latest revelation when he turned on hearing the door open behind him.

He looked up in delight to see Bobby standing over him. The older man looked at Sam, worry-stricken. "I came as soon as I heard; how is he?"

Sam was about to answer when a weak voice drifted up from the bed; "Bobby … wan' co'cnut."

Bobby looked at Sam, perplexed, and mouthed, "coconut?"

Sam shrugged, clapping the older man on the shoulder. "Boy am I glad to see you Bobby," he smiled broadly; "you've never witnessed Dean coming out of an anaesthetic have you?"

Bobby shook his head in concern, "is he okay?"

Sam nodded, struggling again not to laugh; "so far his shoulder's ass is sore, he doesn't want you to take the Impala to bed with you, and now he wants a coconut." Sam paused briefly, "an' he only came round about half an hour ago!"

xxxxx

Bobby stared at the pale, woozy face which smiled crookedly up at him from the bed.

"I'm gonna go an' get coffee, Sam;" he sighed, "we could be n for a long night!"

xxxxx

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 9

Profound apologies to my friends who have been waiting for this chapter to be updated ... posting function has been offline since saturday :(

Dean's recovery continues and he has thankfully few memories of the night before ...

xxxxx

As Dean's eyes flickered open, he felt a warm hand resting across his forehead; shifting weakly, he blinked back tears as the bare light of the hospital room stung his eyes. He let out a long sigh; in no rush to wake up, he was relishing the comfort of the warm touch.

"Hey dude, I thought you were planning to sleep all day!"

The voice was Sam's, and so was the hand. Dean formulated a rapier-sharp rejoinder in his mind, but what actually came out of his mouth was, "mmmm … wha'?"

Sam's best soppy grin shone down on the watery-eyed, squinting figure in the bed.

"How you feelin' there bro'?"

Dean squirmed into a timid one-sided stretch, and yawned lavishly, knuckling his eyes as he tried to swat his brother's hand away in the process.

"Uhh … don' know yet," he whispered and frowned as Sam busily plumped the pillows beneath him.

"Quit fussin," he croaked irritably.

Sam smiled, "oh, hi there Grumpy; you must be feelin' better!"

Dean groaned, shifting again as he tried to scratch his back; "… time is it?"

"Time you woke up," smiled Sam, "it's almost lunchtime."

Dean yawned again, still squirming as his one good arm tried to chase the elusive itch across his twitching shoulder blades.

"Lunchtime?" Dean hesitated, "don' even remember havin' breakfast."

"No dude, you wouldn't," Sam responded with a laugh, "you've been asleep since early evening yesterday."

"Uh - wh-why?"

"The anaesthesia dude;" Sam replied, clumsily gathering up his crutches as he hobbled to his feet. "You woke up for a couple of hours after the surgery, entertained us all, then just went back to sleep." He stood up, clattering his chair across the room with one of the crutches; "oh crap!"

Dean's brows furrowed and an expression of concern crossed his face. "Oh!" He looked down at his bandaged chest and back up to Sam.

"Wha' you do to your leg?"

"Oh nothing much, dude;" although Sam gave a reassuring smile, he could see that Dean wasn't convinced. He shook his head; "look, I just bruised the hip a bit badly," he said in his most comforting tone; "gotta keep my weight off it for a while."

He withered underneath Dean's scrutinising gaze. Dean was mulling over his words, and Sam knew his brother would be deciding whether or not he thought he was getting the truth.

He didn't have long to decide when he found himself distracted by Sam pressing the call bell.

"Hey, what y'doin? I don' need nothing."

"The doc wanted to take a look at you as soon as you woke up," replied Sam.

Dean scowled. "Don' I get no friggin privacy?"

"Nope," Sam turned as he heard the door open, "not until you're better."

"Hey there," Doctor Morgan nodded amiably to Sam and walked over to his patient, "how are you feeling today, Dean?"

"Fine;" Dean responded economically.

Sam stepped across to the other side of the room to give his brother some privacy while the Doctor looked him over. He faced the wall and shook with silent laughter as he heard Doctor Morgan asking Dean all the questions he needed to ask …

"Can you feel this?"

"Give me a deep breath"

"Any pain from the wound?"

… and, for his trouble, received grunted one word answers.

Sam shook his head with a wry smile; Dean being an obnoxious patient equalled Dean feeling okay; unfortunately it didn't make life any easier for the poor, well-meaning man leaning over his over his unco-operative patient, trying to ignore the grouchy sighs and eye-rolls as he did his level best to assess Dean's condition. Sam held his breath, waiting for Dean to tell Doctor Morgan exactly where he could stick his thermometer, and was mightily relieved when it seemed that Dean had managed to hold his tongue.

Folding his stethoscope away, the doctor turned to Sam.

"Looking good," he smiled, "his lung function is as good as I could expect given the problems he's had and he doesn't appear to be in too much discomfort from the wound."

"That's great," Sam responded over a broad smile; "sounds like you're doing really well bro'!"

"Good" snorted Dean, "does that mean I can come out now?"

Sam turned to Morgan and gave a quiet chuckle, "that's always a good sign, doc, when he starts griping about getting out."

"Hey, quit talkin' about me like I ain't here;" the breathy voice drifted up irritably from the bed.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to go home for a couple of days yet, not until I'm completely happy with how your lungs are healing up." Morgan smiled apologetically, "but you're making such good progress, Dean; I'm sure it won't be long."

He opened the door, I'll send a nurse in to change your dressing and check the incision over," he smiled warmly at the two brothers as he left, closing the door behind him.

"Make sure she's hot …" Dean called after him.

Sam hobbled over to the bed and sat down on the chair vacated by Doctor Morgan.

"You're impossible;" he grinned, trying not to laugh as he handed Dean another carton of juice.

"No," Dean mumbled around the straw, "what's impossible is how 'm still stuck in this abbatoir;" he grunted sourly; "I mean, changing my dressing - you could do that."

"Dean, you've just had major reconstructive surgery on your shoulder you've got a suction tube stitched into your chest;" Sam sighed, "I can't deal with that sort of stuff; you're gonna have to suck it up at least until that's gone."

xxxxx

The brothers sat in silence, watching as a pretty young nurse worked confidently and with genuine concern, gently removing the bloodstained dressing across Dean's chest and shoulder. Sam felt himself sway, feeling slightly lightheaded as the horribly swollen black bruising around the site of the surgery, and the tightly sutured wound running the length of Dean's collarbone were revealed.

As she gently and carefully cleaned around the inflamed site of the drainage tube, Sam noted with amusement that Dean had turned slightly green at the sight of it; but he had to admit, his brother was doing an admirable job of keeping up his game 'I'm not gonna hurl while there's a hot chick in a nurse's uniform climbing all over me' face.

"How does that feel? I'm not hurting you am I?" The nurse asked kindly as she carefully taped another dressing over the gruesome disaster zone. Dean effected a broad and slightly demented smile; "nah, you're doin' fine;" he reassured cheerfully, aiming for carefree levity; the effect somewhat ruined by the clenched teeth and watering eyes.

Sam turned away; watching Dean's admirable attempts to preserve his fragile ego was far more painful than watching the nurse work.

xxxxx

After the nurse's visit, Sam attempted to make Dean comfortable again, and the brothers relaxed in a contented silence except for the sounds of Dean sucking up the remainder of his juice through the narrow straw.

Eventually Sam broke the peace; "how's your ass?"

He cringed as Dean choked on his orange juice.

"What the hell?" Dean spluttered, wiping droplets of orange off his chin; "what about my ass?"

"Well, how is it?" sam asked again, unsure of how else to rephrase the question.

Dean glared; "Sam, I don' ever want to hear you talkin' about my ass again," he snorted; "that just sounds so wrong …" He shuddered theatrically; "I just threw up a bit in my mouth."

Sam laughed, "well, you had no problem talking about your ass and all it's issues last night," he grinned, "I got chapter and verse of how much it hurt, where it hurt, why it hurt; you even offered me a look at one stage…"

Dean's eyes widened in horror. "You didn't…"

"No, you're okay dude," Sam replied, wrinking his nose in disgust, "I declined the offer, thanks."

Both men fell into a brief silence, before Sam spoke up again. "So does it still hurt or not?"

"No it does not!" Dean snapped, "it's fine, tip-top, in perfect heath. My ass does not need any attention of any sort - 'specially not from you." He snorted; "now can we please drop the subject?"

Sam shrugged; "consider it dropped."

xxxxx

Dean drained his juice and turned to drop the empty carton in the trashcan beside his bed. He stopped, looking across the nightstand and froze.

"Sam, d'y wanna tell me why there's a coconut on my table?"

"You wanted one," Sam replied with a shrug.

"What?" Dean looked utterly perplexed.

"Last night;" Sam continued, "You really, really wanted a coconut."

"Why?" Dean asked helplessly; "why on earth would I wan' a friggin' coconut?"

Sam was fighting not to laugh again, "Don't ask me;" he sniggered, "but man, you wanted a coconut real bad, so Bobby went out and got one for you; wasn't that kind of him?"

Dean stared at the round, hairy object. "What the hell am I supposed to do with a coconut?" he snorted.

"You could always make a Pina Colada?" Sam offered with a mischievous grin.

"How 'bout I just throw it at you instead?"

Dean slumped back into the mountain of pillows and huffed sulkily. "crap;" he looked across at his quietly chuckling brother with the patented 'Dean Winchester' narrowed stern eyes which were supposed to intimidate Sam but really just made him laugh; "Sam, I forbid you to ever allow me to go under a general anaesthetic again," he sighed, "I clearly can't be held responsible for my actions. Are there any more gut-wrenching humiliations you wanna tell me about?"

Sam shook his head, mute with suppressed laughter.

Dean stared and the coconut and sighed deeply; "you do realise Bobby's gonna use this against me for the rest of my life," he moaned.

"No he won't, he was just worried about you dude;" Sam responded with a wet-eyed grin, "we both were, he thought it might cheer you up."

A click heralded the opening of the door and Bobby walked through with coffees and donuts from the diner across the road.

He smiled broadly, "Hey Sam; Hi there Crusoe."

Dean glared at Sam; "won't use it against me huh?"

Unable to hold it together any longer, Sam dissolved into helpless sniggers, leaning sideways off the chair and knocking his crutches over. He made a grab for them, before they clattered all over the floor again.

Bobby leapt out of the way, splashing coffee down his shirt and rolled his eyes; "anyone ever told you you're lethal with those things?" he snapped, placing the coffees on the table and rummaging in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe himself down.

xxxxx

Sam took a long sip of the coffee, relishing the rich, mellow taste after the bitter gutrot from the vending machine down the corridor; "where've you been Bobby?" he smiled warmly, "you missed Sleepin' Beauty here wakin' up."

Bobby grinned, "say, that would have been a sight for sore eyes!" He glanced across to the glaring figure in the bed; "what's he askin' for today - pineapples?"

"kiss my ass…" snorted Dean

"… why? It still sore, Tinkerbell?"

Bobby drained his coffee. "In actual fact, I've been out and about doin' a bit of digging around."

"I guessed," Sam smiled, gesturing towards the older man, "you still got your parks authority badge on."

Bobby smiled in return, "yeah well, I've been to see the farmer who owned your two horses," he looked up at Sam and across to Dean, still glowering from the comfort of his bed.

"Wanna hear a story?"

Xxxxx

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 10

The brothers learn the truth courtesy of Bobby.

Taking stock of the situation, Sam reflects; sure things could be better ... but they could have been so much worse.

Xxxxx

"Story?" The brothers spoke up in unison.

"You're not gonna wanna tuck me in afterwards are you?" Dean snorted, "cos' I was kinda hoping that little nurse would come back to do that."

Bobby looked down at the weak attempt at an obnoxious grin playing on Dean's pallid face and rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself boy," he muttered with a smile.

Rummaging in the paper bag containing the donuts, he drew out a chocolate frosted one and passed it to Sam. "Wow, thanks Bobby;" Sam's eyes lit up and he took the donut, his face lifting into a smile of blissful delight as he disposed of half of it in one massive bite.

Bobby passed another donut to Dean who took it eagerly, filling his face without hesitation.

He paused, mid-chew, nose wrinkling in disdain and glared up towards Bobby's smiling face.

"Coconut?"

Sam let a muffled snort of laughter through his stuffed cheeks, spraying the back of Bobby's head with fragments of chewed donut.

"Funny, Bobby. Real funny;" Dean mumbled sulkily, through a well-packed mouthful. Both Sam and Bobby noted, however, that he was clearly not too offended to polish off the remainder of his treat with enthusiasm.

xxxxx

"Anyway, Bobby;" Sam licked his sticky fingers, and drained his coffee. "What were you saying about a story?"

Bobby screwed the paper bag up and tossed it over Dean's bed into the trashcan.

"Uh, story … yeah!" Bobby looked across to the bed, noticing Dean's head slowly nodding and his eyes softly drooping; "still with us, Princess?"

Dean's head snapped upwards with a snort; stifling a flinch and a yawn he turned to Bobby; "don' get rid o' me that easily …"

xxxxx

"I went down to see your farmer friend this morning;" Bobby began; "I decided to conduct my own little 'unofficial' Parks Authority investigation."

The brothers listened intently as Bobby continued,

"He was very helpful; turns out you guys did everyone farming that area a damn good turn getting rid of the 'rogue cougar' that's been taking the livestock."

Sam gave a mirthless smile; "rogue cougar, yeah, right!"

Bobby shrugged; "apparently the damn thing has been decimating local flocks; put two farmers out of business so far."

"Yeah, yeah;" Dean interrupted impatiently, "so we're the worlds greatest pest control." He shuffled down, wincing as he tried to get comfortable. "Get to the good bit; how did they know we were in trouble?"

"That horse that died," replied Bobby; "it was the first …"

"Hannibal;" interrupted Dean, "his name was Hannibal."

Bobby hesitated, smiling; "okay; well … Hannibal was the first animal our farmer friend had lost to the 'cougar', but the weird thing is he was sure Hannibal had died even before the Parks Authority turned up with the other horse on it's own in the horse trailer after you both got picked up and carted off to hospital."

Sam threw a glance at Dean and shrugged, "so, how …" he began and trailed off.

Dean picked up the question, "so how did they know? How did his wife know we were in trouble?"

Bobby nodded, "I was hoping to speak to her, but she just won't talk about what happened; too upset; she's denying it ever happened."

Sam shrugged "too upset? What, about Hannibal?"

Bobby gave Sam a strange look. "sort of …"

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion; "Bobby … c'mon; what're you sayin?"

Bobby sighed; "according to the farmer, she was in the kitchen preparing dinner. She just happened to glance up through the window out towards the paddock and she saw your hor … Hannibal. She said he was just standing in the paddock staring right back at her; not moving or nothing, but he looked dishevelled and bloody, all beaten up. She said he looked like he'd been in a fight."

He paused, and saw that he had the Winchesters' undivided attention.

"He was still wearing his saddle and bridle, but it was all scuffed and dirty and the reins were just dragging along the ground; and when she saw there was no rider, she figured ya must have got into trouble out there on the trail, so she went and called the Parks Authority to send someone out to try to find ya."

Sam and Dean swapped bemused glances.

"When she put the phone down, she went straight outside to tend to the horse, but she couldn't find him;" Bobby paused, "she said she searched all over the yard and when she walked over to the paddock where she had seen him …"

Two pairs of eyes stared at him, unblinking.

He rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the ground; "the paddock gate was padlocked, there were no prints in the sand … no sign anyone or anything had ever been there."

Dean stared up at Bobby, brow furrowed in an expression somewhere between confusion and regret; "so … so, are you saying …?"

"This was early evening two days ago," Bobby said quietly.

"Two days ago?" Sam murmured, "the evening? that would make it …"

"After Hannibal was killed." Dean cut in quietly, looking down at his lap.

For a moment no-one made a sound.

"Hannibal saved you bro'," Sam broke the silence, the disbelief clear in his barely whispered words.

xxxxx

Bobby spoke up; "the poor woman's completely traumatised. She can't explain it, especially after the Authority found Hannibal and saw that he was already dead and had been for a while." He shrugged, "she flatly refuses to talk about it."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but glanced helplessly up at Sam and closed it again when no words seemed adequate.

"She's got a lifetime of therapy to look forward to;" Bobby mumbled as he drained his now-cold coffee.

The three men settled into a preoccupied silence.

xxxxx

Sam sat beside his brother's bed and watched through the room's one small window as the sun slowly set over the distant buildings, bathing the room in a dim amber glow.

Dean had slipped into a light sleep, and shortly afterwards Bobby had excused himself, leaving the boys to themselves and heading back to his motel room.

Sitting quietly, Sam watched him sleep; his hand resting flat on the thick cotton sheets which he had pulled up over his sleeping brother's chest, and reflected numbly on what Bobby had told them.

He stared hazily into the darkening sky; tormented by thoughts of Hannibal and Indiana; of Dean hurting, bleeding, dying; of Dean's grey, sweat beaded face, contorted in pain, gaping desperately for breath that wouldn't come; of the grotesque heaving of Dean's chest, his yawning blue lips, a mist of scarlet foam staining the air.

Blinking away a terrible image of him sitting on that dusty trail cradling his brother's lifeless body, he took a long shuddering breath. Dean was safe; Dean was going to recover; and Sam had the two most unlikely allies to thank for that. Mouthing silent thanks, he knew that ultimately, those horses hadn't just saved Dean's life, they had saved his own too.

His life meant nothing without his brother.

He could feel himself trembling, terrified at how close this hunt had come to that dreadful, unthinkable conclusion; closing his eyes he took another deep breath to try to slow his pounding heart.

Then another.

He sat in that manner for a few moments, relaxing under his closed eyelids, his long, deep breaths calming and soothing, chasing the terrible images away.

It was then he heard it.

xxxxx

"… ahem."

He opened his eyes and looked across to see Dean's sleep muzzed green eyes staring up at him.

"d'y mind?"

Sam's eyes travelled down and noticed with horror that as he had been lost in his unhappy thoughts, his outspread hand had strayed under the bedsheets and was absently tracing lazy, comforting circles across his brother's bare chest.

Snatching his hand back, he gasped. "Oh jeez … crap, sorry Dean;" he flushed crimson, "kinda got distracted for a bit there…"

"Yeah, well; now you've finished manhandlin' me, perhaps you can get me a drink!" Dean croaked, squirming upwards in an attempt to sit up straighter.

Sam poured Dean a drink from a jug of water on the nightstand and handed him the glass.

"Uh … good sleep bro?" he mumbled, still burning up with embarrassment.

Dean yawned, "Uh, yeah … 'til I got woke up by someone's 'wanderin' hands'!" He wiggled his fingers to reinforce the point.

"Told you Dean, I got distracted." Sam smiled sadly, "I was just thinking about what Bobby told us."

Dean downed his water in one long draught and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.

"Yeah, respect to my fat buddy;" he sighed around a sad smile, "there can't be many dudes who've had their asses skinned and saved by the same horse in the same week."

Sam smiled, desperate to refocus his embarrassment onto Dean; "how is your ass, by the way?"

Dean rolled his eyes; "I suppose I should be thankful I didn't wake up with you rubbing that!"

xxxxx

Sam presented Dean with a vending machine coffee and a candy bar, and lowered himself down into his usual chair beside the bed, propping his crutches against the wall only to watch in exasperated resignation as they slid down to the floor in a clattering heap.

Hate. Friggin'. Crutches.

He watched Dean grimace as he sipped the bitter liquid and smiled. He'd warned Dean, but his brother was adamant; a crap coffee's better than no coffee at all. And Sam had to admit, coffee didn't come much crappier than this.

They talked through the events of the past few days; Sam keeping a constant watch on Dean, noting how his train of thought was occasionally derailed by the weapons-grade medication still pumping through his battered system.

He smiled as he thought back to that blissful morning outside the tent, almost surreal in it's peacefulness and calm given the terrible events that followed it.

"It was kinda fun though, wasn't it?" His smile receded as Dean looked up at him as if he was raving mad.

"The camping, I mean;" he corrected abruptly, "I mean before it all went wrong".

Dean was obviously unconvinced so Sam tried again; "camping, with the horses, under the stars, just you an' me dude. It was kinda fun, like bein' kids again; don't you think?"

Dean's face suggested that he didn't think at all; "what, apart from the bug bites, the nettles, the sweaty sleeping bags, the dead things floating in the coffee and the weird animal noises all friggin' night?" He grunted with an unenthusiastic shrug. "Yeah, it was a blast …"

Sam's shoulders slumped; "well the burgers were nice cooked over an open fire …" he offered meekly.

"Yeah, I guess so," Dean replied, "thirty million ants can't be wrong;" he snorted as he took another tentative sip of the appalling coffee.

Sam smiled sadly, leaning against the mound of pillows supporting his brother and sighed; "well, I guess that's one thing we'll never have in common…"

xxxxx

The sun rose the following morning, illuminating two sleeping figures.

Leaning into each other, under a huffing whisper of soft snores, Dean's head nestled onto Sam's shoulder, his empty styrofoam cup scrunched loosely in his hand, a drain of cold coffee staining the white bedsheets. Slouched untidily in the padded chair beside the bed, Sam's long arms were folded limply across his chest.

And suddenly it didn't matter … under the stars; in a hospital; in a motel room; at the end of the world?

Against all the odds, Sam had his brother, safe and sound.

He didn't care where they were …

xxxxx

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

A FOUR LEGGED FRIEND

Chapter 11

The boys tie up a few loose ends …

xxxxx

_Two weeks later …_

Nate Wallace was a wiry gnarled imp of a man. A jockey for the best part of his life, he struggled to scrape five foot three in his mud-caked boots and his weatherbeaten face, battered by a lifetime of balancing precariously on skittish half-ton creatures travelling at high speed, made him look far older than his 57 years.

Retiring at 39, with the intention of spending some quality time with his remaining teeth, he had branched into farming, but had always retained his strong links with the animals which, over many years, had earned him a handsome living.

He currently stood in his damp yard dwarfed by the two smiling goliaths either side of him; one sporting a sling and patches of freshly healed pink skin along his stubbled chin, the other fresh off crutches, walking cautiously with a pronounced limp.

xxxxx

Sam had explained at length the sad story of how Hannibal, spooked by the unfortunate buck, had bolted; decanting his inexperienced rider and then running headlong into the 'cougar'.

Wallace looked up to his visitors. "The Parks Authority said they found the cougar's body when they went back to take care of Hannibal's remains." He said, "biggest damn critter they'd ever seen – twice the size of any other cougar anyone's ever caught," he smiled; "they said you'd damn near blown it's head off, so there wasn't a lot they could tell except that it was one godawful ugly sonofabitch. Reckon it must have been riddled with mange or something; it didn't have a patch of fur left on it's body. Looks like you did the miserable bastard a favour."

"I know you did all of us a favour," he sighed, "the damn thing's been slaughtering livestock wholesale, this area's lost more livestock in the last year than I've known taken throughout my entire life." He slipped a hand under his cap and scratched his balding head; " it's put two good friends of mine out of business. Others have lost over half their flocks an' their livelihoods are jus' hangin' on by a thread."

The three men fell into a short silence.

"Jus' a shame we hadta lose a great ol' boy like Hannibal doin' it," Wallace reflected quietly.

"He was getting' on an' all, and I would have probably retired him soon, but he never deserved to end up like that."

"What would you have done with him?" asked Sam.

Wallace smiled, "well, my business head would have told me to offload him. Animal which ain't earnin' it's keep got no place on a farm." He turned to Sam with a wry smile, "but seein' as my wife, my two daughters, my son and my seven grandchildren would have probably never spoken to me again, I guess I would have kept him as some kinda gigantic pet and then stood by and watched as the fat bastard ate me out of business instead of the cougar!"

Both brothers laughed quietly at the thought of Hannibal and his bottomless appetite.

xxxxx

Dean cut in. "The, uh, guy from the Parks Authority told us about what your wife saw – or thought she saw."

Wallace shook his head, and took a sharp intake of breath.

"She refuses to talk about it; denies she ever saw anything. Says it was one of the other horses, and she just glanced at it quickly out of the corner of her eye." He looked up at Dean with a shrug.

"What do you think?" asked Dean softly.

Wallace scratched his head under his cap againand both brothers reflected how he looked like a shrunken, slightly shrivelled up Bobby when he did that.

"I dunno," he began, "Hannibal was the only dun in the stable; twice as wide as any other horse here. Pretty hard to mistake for anything else." He huffed in exasperation; "I'm telling' ya, that paddock was locked, no horse could get in there without human help, and when we went out and checked the paddock, it had only just been raked. No prints, horse or human. There weren't nothing had been in that paddock."

The Winchesters remained silent to allow Wallace to gather his thoughts. "If I didn't know better, I'd have said that was Hannibal's ghost come back to warn us that you were in trouble. 'Cept I don't believe in that sort of crap."

"Well, I guess we'll never explain it, "smiled Sam, "but whatever it was, I'm just glad your wife called the authority because that damn, uh, cougar took us by surprise, an' things were looking real bad for us."

xxxxx

"Was Hannibal insured?" Dean asked cautiously, wanting to be prepared in case a compensation claim was heading their way.

Wallace nodded, "he was, for what pittance that was worth, but here's the thing." He added, "the local papers and radio stations got calls, no idea who from, to say that two of my horses were used by the campers who killed the cougar. My horses are local heroes. I've been interviewed by the Daily Herald and on the radio, and a photographer came from the Herald last week; took some photos of Indiana for this week's issue."

He patted Dean on the back, "with the money I got from the interviews, I could ha' bought Hannibal five times over. I don't know who did that, but I sure wanna shake his hand."

The brothers glanced across to each other and a single thought passed between them.

'Bobby.'

xxxxx

The three men talked a little more until Wallace excused himself; "sorry guys, I gotta go; vet's on his way; I think I may have an outbreak of footrot".

Sam glanced down at Wallace's boots.

He laughed, "not me, my sheep …"

"Ah…" Sam flushed with slight embarrassment, hearing Dean sniggering behind him; but was distracted as he looked away from Wallace and noticed a familiar long, chestnut face staring back at him with knowing, chocolate-brown eyes.; "ok, um, could we go and see Indiana? Promise we won't get under your feet."

Wallace smiled, "take as long as you like guys."

The brothers said their goodbyes and made their way over to their friend who was undeniably pleased to see them. Looking over his stable door he tossed his head, snorting and whittering as he beckoned the two figures towards him.

"Hey, keep your hair on, big man, we're comin'!" Dean laughed, as he watched the horse's antics.

Smiling broadly, Sam said nothing, as he grasped the big chestnut head, leaning into it as he fussed and ruffled the horse's smooth face.

Dean joined in, rubbing long velvet ears as they twitched and swivelled, even laughing as a hot wet snort caught him square across the face.

"You're a hero, dude;" he smiled, "'course, we knew that long before the radio did."

Indiana tossed his head and kicked the bottom of the door; "see, he agrees," Dean grinned at Sam, slapping the muscular chestnut neck.

As he glanced over Sam's shoulder, something caught his eye; a whitewashed stable block at the end of the yard, and at one end of it was an empty stable. The sign on the wall beside it said, 'Hannibal'.

He gave Indiana a last pat and walked slowly over to the empty stable, picturing his fat buddy standing in the stall, peering over the door. He'd be making a fuss of Dean, but not because he wanted Dean's love, he'd be seeking out something edible. A sly mint secreted in a jacket pocket or something equally appetising.

Dean leaned on the dusty door, brushing a cobweb away of his face and stared into the dark space.

"hey bro'."

Dean jerked up at the sound of Sam's voice next to him, he'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even realised Sam had joined him.

Dean smiled, and rummaged in his pocket pulling out his hipflask.

With a minimum of fuss, he unscrewed the lid, and tipped it upside down, pouring a trickle of whiskey onto the dusty floor of Hannibal's stall. "Respect big dude; you saved my hide."

Taking a swig from the hipflask, he raised it in tribute over the stable door.

"Wish I could have done the same for you."

Dean handed the flask to Sam. "have a drink to my fat buddy's memory."

Sam took a long draught of the burning liquid and raised the flask.

"Big dude …" he announced, "hope you've found yourself some pretty little mare up in horsey heaven!"

xxxxx

The brothers' trip back toward the nearest town took them along a high deserted escarpment. Miles and miles of open grassy ridges, looming over the distant sprawls of the surrounding low-lying towns.

Sam turned to Dean as he pulled the Impala over onto a grass verge, and rolled to a halt. "You okay man?"

Dean turned to him with a smile, "yeah, I'm good, jus' wanna look at the view for a bit."

Sam frowned in concern. "You sure you're okay?

Dean pushed open the Impala's door, and climbed out, "dude, I'm fine - what I can't sit on a hill to watch a sunset now?"

Sam watched as the Impala's door shut in his face and blinked. Even after all these years, Dean never lost his capacity to surprise and confound his brother.

Xxxxx

Sam had to hand it to Dean, as the brothers sat cross-legged on the grass beside the Impala sharing a giant bag of chips and a bottle of Coke, it was a stunning fiery sunset. He smiled as he grabbed a fistful of chips, and glanced beside him to see Dean leaning back against the Impala's front wheel, his eyes closed in peaceful reflection.

Suddenly he spoke.

"Sam."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah …"

"I've been thinking."

"steady on, dude."

Dean glared dangerously. "Listen smartass, I've got a coconut, an I'm not afraid to use it."

"Apparently my ass wasn't the one that was smartin' dude." Sam grinned evilly.

Dean leaned across and punched his grinning brother in the shoulder, then settled back against his baby again, making a point of draining the Coke. He looked up at the darkening twilight, the Sun's last tendrils of light slowly disappearing below the horizon and shading the distant sky in a dusky, tan glow. Same colour as Hannibal's coat, Dean reflected with a soft smile.

He gazed up into the blackness above his head, squinting at the tiny pinpricks of light which looked back down at him. Lulled by the chirruping of the crickets and the summer breeze; they were far enough away from civilisation to catch the scent of Honeysuckle and Dog Rose, not diesel fumes.

Taking a deep breath, he watched intently as a moth fluttered lazily across his field of vision.

"I get it;" he murmured softly, eyes following the little moth on it's meandering flight path, "I get what you see in this nature stuff."

Sam turned, "huh?"

"I get it." Dean smiled, picking up a chip; "it's quiet an' relaxing an' sorta pretty." He shrugged, "sometimes, like now, it smells nice, and the horses were cool, they were fun to be around." He cleared his throat; "yeah, I see why you like it."

Sam stared. "Wow … and you haven't even started on the beers yet!"

Dean snorted; "forget the smart comments, bitch; I'm having a friggin' apostrophe here!"

"It's epiphany, Dean"

"Yeah whatever; you pitch the tent while I brew the coffee."

xxxxx

Sam's face lifted into the broadest grin.

"You betcha bro'!"

xxxxx

end


End file.
